


Rocky Horror Pancake Show

by ChuckleVoodoos



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, Groundhog Day, M/M, Time Loop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 02:35:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4373909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChuckleVoodoos/pseuds/ChuckleVoodoos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Foggy falls asleep at exactly 12:00 AM, and he’s making a wish. He wakes up at 12:00 AM too—twenty-four hours before he fell asleep.</p><p>"Let's do the time warp again!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rocky Horror Pancake Show

“ _Let’s do the time warp again!”_

Foggy wakes up at midnight and can’t go back to sleep.

 

There’s someone playing obnoxiously loud music next door, and although it’s a catchy song there are _limits,_ honestly.

 

“ _Let’s do the time warp agaaaaaaaain!”_

Foggy tries to cover his ears with his pillow, but after ten solid minutes of _Rocky Horror Picture Show,_ he finally gives up. He considers dropping by to see Matt, maybe grab a few more minutes of sleep. It’s midnight though, and Matt’s been looking tired lately. He doesn’t need Foggy bothering him at all sorts of crazy hours just to finagle a spot on Matt's couch. 

 

He goes to an all-night diner instead, for about a million cups of coffee. He flirts with the waitress, and the waitress flirts back. She’s got a wedding ring and he’s got Matt (in his dreams), so it’s nothing serious, just him saying that she looks sweeter than the pie in the display case and her saying she wishes she could have a slice of cutie _pie_ like him. She _does_ give him an extra pancake though, and she doesn’t even laugh when he draws a smiley face on it with syrup. Nadine seems like a nice lady—Foggy’s totally coming back here the next time his asshole neighbors decide to blast campy musicals through the walls.

 

Eventually it’s light enough that it’s not completely pathetic to go to work—although it’s still pretty pathetic—so Foggy bids Nadine a fond farewell, leaves a much larger tip than he can afford to, and makes his way to the office.

 

Karen gets there before Matt does, so they decide to surprise him by working on the office equipment. They fail pretty miserably, but Matt seems amused at least. Good. Matt hasn’t been smiling enough lately. One day Foggy’s actually going to corner him and figure out exactly what’s going on, but Matt’s very good at avoiding his problems. He’s also very good at avoiding _Foggy_ when Foggy wants to talk about his problems, so Foggy hasn’t had any luck yet.

 

Mrs. Cardenas arrives just when Foggy is beginning to go crazy from trying to get the copier to work. She’s sweet as sugar, and clearly needs help. There’s no question about whether they’ll take the case. Matt and Karen have a lovely moment about speaking Spanish, the oh-so-impressive Romance language of hot-blooded lovers. Foggy grits his teeth and smiles at all the right places. Of course, everybody loves _Spanish._ Spanish is suave. Spanish is sexy.

 

Punjabi can be sexy too.

 

And then Matt, the shameless Spanish-speaking flirt, won’t even go with him to face those demons at Landman and Zack. No, he’s got to go get _paperwork._ What a cop-out. _Paperwork,_ honestly. Coward. But fine. Foggy doesn’t need him. Foggy’s got a lovely assistant and sexy Punjabi on his side. He can do this. He grudgingly lets Matt go and heads into the lions’ den.

 

It’s pretty awful, but at least he gets to tell Marci what’s what. He thinks she might actually be impressed, which would be a first in their relationship. Ex-relationship, of course. Always and forever an ex-relationship. Never revisiting that particular circle of hell again. Karen’s impressed too. Foggy appears to be on a roll today with the ladies—Nadine, Mrs. Cardenas, Marci, Karen. He’s never had game like this before, which means that of course Matt’s on the other side of the city doing _paperwork._ By the time Matt pops up again, the game will be gone. Foggy will be just Foggy again, and Just Foggy doesn’t seem to be Matt’s type.

 

Foggy hates the universe sometimes. It’s obviously out to get him.

 

He calls Matt to tell him about their victory at the firm—and also to maybe ask if Matt wants to get dinner, because maybe his sweet, sweet game works through a telephone. It takes twelve rings for Matt to answer, and when he does he seems preoccupied.

 

“You okay?” Foggy asks, and Matt hums in agreement.

 

“Yes. There’s just a slight problem.” Matt says, voice a bit vague. “It might take me a while to get back to the office.” Foggy pulls his phone away from his ear for a moment to frown at it.

 

“What kind of problem?” He wonders suspiciously. “Is Brett not giving you the papers? You can tell him to call me, I’ll set him straight—“ He might actually be able to. Today is a very lucky day, he can already tell. Today is a perfect day, his oblivious and uninterested Matt notwithstanding.

 

“No, no.” Matt says quickly. “Actually he’s…out sick. I’m talking to someone else instead. Detective Blake, very interesting man.”

 

Blake? Foggy’s never even heard of a Detective Blake. Is he really going to listen to a total stranger like Matt about a random little old lady’s apartment?

 

“And you think you can convince him to help?” Foggy asks doubtfully.

 

“Oh, yes.” Matt tells him balmily. “I’m sure I can persuade him somehow.”

 

“Well, okay.” Foggy agrees. Matt seems pretty confident. “Let me know when you’re done, okay?”

 

“Absolutely.” Matt promises. “I’d better go. I have a few questions for Detective Blake.” He sounds vaguely angry—probably at how slow everything’s going with the paperwork. “Talk to you soon.”

 

Foggy opens his mouth to suggest talking soon over dinner, and hears the click of Matt hanging up without saying goodbye. Well, fine then—his sweet, sweet game clearly does not work through a telephone. Foggy decides that he might as well do something productive since wooing Matt is out of the question, so he heads over to help Mrs. Cardenas with her apartment’s repairs. It goes pretty well, until dinner. Mrs. Cardenas—Elena, Señor Foggy, _Elena_ —leaves Foggy and Karen with a delicious meal and a wink. She’s obviously assuming that they’re more than friends, and she’s a darling for wanting to give them a date, but it’s not going to work. For obvious reasons.

 

The most obvious reason being, of course, that they both want Matt instead.

 

Eventually Elena comes back in. He’s not sure if she somehow senses that her matchmaking’s a bust, or if she’s just a bit of an adorable busybody, but either way Foggy takes the opportunity to check his messages while Karen and Elena talk. 10:59, and Matt _still_ hasn’t called. He can’t still be at the station, can he? It’s been eight hours. Foggy dials Matt’s number and waits, glancing out the window. Hell’s Kitchen really is beautiful at night, serene and quiet. Foggy knows there are probably a hundred crimes in progress right now, but it still _seems_ serene and quiet.

 

Then it doesn’t.

 

The window shatters. 11:00.

 

Fifty minutes later, Foggy’s lying in a hospital bed and Matt’s still not answering his phone.

 

“Are you sure you don’t want to watch TV?” Karen asks for the dozenth time, and Foggy shakes his head and redials.

 

Voicemail. Again. _This is Matt Murdock. Go ahead and—you’re not funny, Foggy—leave a message after—stop trying to make me laugh, it’s not going to work—the beep._ And then he laughs, because Foggy is hilarious and Matt knows it.

 

Matt’s still not picking up.

 

“Hi, Matt.” Foggy mumbles into the phone. “I hope you’re alright. We’re alright. Elena’s alright, and Karen’s alright too.” He promises, just in case Matt didn’t get his last ten messages on the subject. “And I’m—wow, I’m a _jelly donut.”_ He whispers in awe, poking at the hole in his side. It’s looks so weird, even with the bandages.

 

“Stop.” Karen sighs, pulling his hand away. Then she takes phone from his other hand, despite Foggy’s tired protests, and hangs up. “Maybe you should wait to call him again until you’re on fewer pain meds.” She suggests gently. “You’re kind of loopy right now.”

 

“Froot Loopy.” Foggy agrees solemnly. “I’m Froot Loopy. Ha, Matt’ll be so mad. He likes Cheerios better.” He considers. “I guess they’ve all got those little bits gone in the middle—just like me. Boop.” He pokes his side again. It doesn’t even hurt—they’ve got him on the _good_ stuff.

 

 _“No_.” Karen scolds, tugging his hand away again and pushing a pillow into his arms. “Hug that, and don’t touch your side.”

 

Foggy obeys, rolling onto his uninjured side and cuddling the rather scratchy pillow.

 

“I’m sort of sleepy.” Foggy admits sheepishly. “What time is it?” Karen pauses for a moment, checking her watch.

 

“11:55.” She tells him, and Foggy nods.

 

“You’re right, we should wait, give him space. Call at 11:57, okay?” Foggy orders dozily. “And wake me up. Need to tell Matt…about donuts.” He yawns. Karen sighs.

 

“Okay.” She agrees. “Now get some rest, okay?” Foggy nods, pacified.

 

“’Kay. Night, Karen.” He snuggles the pillow closer. “Night, Matt.” He kisses the very top of the scratchy pillowcase and thinks that Pillow-Matt should really invest in some hair conditioner/fabric softener.

 

“Goodnight, Foggy.” Karen answers tenderly, but there's a note there of something a sober Foggy would uncomfortably diagnose as pity. Loopy Foggy just thinks with a tiny giggle that she sounds kind of congested. “Matt will be here soon to say goodnight too.”

 

Not a very ‘good’ goodnight, Foggy muses, considering the whole city just blew up. It would be better to have a good good-morning than a bad goodnight. And it’s almost midnight anyway, after all. Almost morning. Foggy smiles into his scratchy pillow and thinks of Matt.

 

_Good morning, sunshine. I hope you have a perfect day._

Foggy falls asleep at exactly 12:00 AM, and he’s making a wish.

 

He wakes up at 12:00 AM too—twenty-four hours _before_ he fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

“ _Let’s do the time warp again!”_

Foggy groans and covers his ears with his pillow, just like he did…yesterday.

 

Foggy opens his eyes and sits up.

 

He’s not where he was when he fell asleep. The itchy, uncomfortable hospital blankets have been replaced by his silk sheets—an indulgence, but he’s always sort of hoped that he might get a chance to try them out with Matt. No such luck so far, but there’s always a chance. Maybe. Karen’s nowhere in sight, and the blips and bleeps of the hospital monitors are gone. All that’s left is his dark room and that loud, obnoxious song.

 

He puts a hand over where the glass hit him. It doesn’t hurt, but that might be because the cut isn’t there anymore. He pokes at the spot and pulls his shirt up to look more closely. Not even a scar, and no jelly donut. Nothing.

 

Like it never happened.

 

“ _It’s just a jump to the left! And then a step to the right!”_

 

That song again. No one is that sadistic, playing that same stupid song two nights in a row on full-blast. There’s no way.

 

_“You put your hands on your hips! You bring your knees in tight!”_

 

Clearly there is only one explanation for this. Foggy looks down at his arm and groans. Five tally marks in stark black ink.

 

Foggy’s finally gotten his glitch.

 

* * *

 

You’re not supposed to tell people about the glitch. It’s a private thing, one you’re supposed to handle on your own.

 

Five days. Five do-overs to fix what you broke. Five tally marks.

 

It’s essentially a big screw-you from the universe. And it’s a _pity_ screw too. The universe feels _bad_ for you, because you’ve messed up your life so badly that you need five more tries to even have a hope of getting it right.

 

No one’s happy with their choice. That much Foggy knows. It’s like playing blackjack. You get an okay card, an okay day. You could stop there, stay up past midnight and end the glitch, but why would you? You could get closer to 21—a _perfect_ day. You could, so you go to sleep. You ask for another card, another do-over. Five do-overs later, you’ve screwed your life up even more than you did the first time, and now you’re stuck with it. No more do-overs. Bust, turn in your chips, have a nice life.

 

And it’s dangerous, getting people involved. If you pick that day to stay, the people you tell will know _everything._ They’ll know what you did and why you did it, and people can get…testy, when they realize you had five extra days to make their lives better and you didn’t do enough. There have been riots over it when someone was stupid enough to come forward. Why didn’t you stop Kennedy from being assassinated? Why didn’t you save the stock market? Why didn’t you end world hunger, you selfish bastard? You had five days to get off your lazy ass and save the entire world, and you couldn’t even fix your own damn problems.

 

Some things aren’t meant to be changed. Foggy remembers one of his teachers saying that. Sometimes you just have to accept the cards you’ve been dealt. Bust, and bet low so you have something left with the universe is done screwing you over. So you do what you can. You don’t make a big deal out of it, and you don’t tell _anyone._

 

“Matt, I just got my glitch.” Matt’s not anyone. He’s _Matt._ “I need to save the entire city today.” Betting low is boring. Fortune favors the bold.

There is a long silence.

 

“You have horrible timing.” Matt sighs into the phone. “Okay, how are we saving the city today?”

 

“Yeah, that might be a conversation better had in person.” Foggy says wryly. “It could take a while. Should I come over?”

 

“No, we can meet somewhere. Have breakfast.” Matt offers quickly—too quickly. Foggy narrows his eyes.

 

“Matt, do you have a lady friend there with you?” He asks, low and pleasant. Foggy might actually _kill_ Matt if he skipped out on visiting Foggy last night to canoodle with a lady friend.

 

“No, not at all.” Matt assures him—again, much too swiftly, voice just a wee bit too high. “My place is just messy right now.”

 

“Your place is never messy.” Foggy accuses. “You’re a neat freak. I roomed with you for three hellish years of midnight vacuuming and surprise dust checks, remember?” Matt clears his throat, and it's all so suddenly, terribly clear. “You have a lady friend.” Foggy repeats, dazed, and he knows it's true even before a startled Matt can come up with a response. Matt has a lady in his apartment. 

 

Well, this day just keeps getting better and better. Matt’s dating someone, Landman and Zack looms ever closer, Matt’s dating someone, Hell’s Kitchen is going to catch on fire, Matt’s dating someone, and Foggy is going to get impaled. And Matt’s dating someone.

 

That’s the icing on this whole screwed-up cake of misery, seriously.

 

“It’s not like that.” Matt says desperately. “I promise.” Foggy smiles mirthlessly.

 

“No, it’s fine. Hey, good for you, man.” It hurts coming out of his mouth, tasting rusty and sharp. “But I kind of need to talk to you, so it might be better if we meet without the pretty lady friend. Tell her I said hi, alright?”

 

“It’s not…” Matt sighs. “Claire and I are just friends.”

 

 _Right, like I haven’t heard that one before._ Foggy thinks bitterly. He shoves down the resentment and smiles.

 

“Okay, cool. If you say so.” He agrees. “Let’s get some pancakes.”

 

Foggy takes Matt to the diner. He flirts with Nadine again, shamelessly, and is thrilled when she seems more interested in him than Matt. That doesn’t happen often—and sure, Nadine’s married and not interested in _either_ of them, really, but it’s still nice.

 

“You do realize you’re not supposed to be telling me about the glitch?” Matt reminds him, but it’s absent. He’s not actually upset. Foggy snorts.

 

“Come on, Matt. We tell each other everything.” He points out. “Besides, you can keep a secret, right?”

 

Matt is completely still for a second, and then he gives a slight upturning of his lips, a bit too tightly-wound to be called a grin.

 

“I can.” He agrees, a wry twist to his voice. “Thank you for trusting me with this.” Foggy waves him off easily.

 

“Sure. We’re partners, you know? Nelson and Murdock, avocados at law. I wouldn’t even try doing this without you.” He laughs, a little nervous. “It’s kind of a doozy.”

 

“Oh?” Matt asks curiously, talking a sip of his water. “So you have an idea of what triggered it?” Foggy laughs again, definitely nervous this time.

 

“I’ve got a pretty good idea, yeah.” He offers dryly. “Kind of hard to miss.” Literally. Matt leans forward, hands folded on the table in front of him.

 

“And what are we dealing with?”

 

The way he says ‘we’, not a hint of doubt in his voice, melts away Foggy’s nervousness as quickly as it had come. Foggy’s not dealing with it alone, and Matt’s got his serious-lawyer-face on. There’s no way that they can’t fix it, not if they’re working together.

 

“It’s a little…” Foggy hesitates. “It’s _a lot,_ actually.” Matt frowns, apprehensive.

 

“What sort of ‘a lot’?” He questions carefully. “What exactly did you mean by ‘save the city’?” Foggy shrugs.

 

“Uh, pretty much that I need to save the city.” He explains, trying to sound lighthearted. “Just, you know. Everyday stuff. Recycle, give to charity, be a superhero, yadda yadda.” Matt does not seem impressed by this show of insouciance.

 

“What exactly triggered the glitch, Foggy?” He asks lowly, and it’s pretty clear he knows something’s up. Damn. Foggy had been hoping he could think of a better way to say this if he stalled enough.

 

“Uh, I’m not really sure? It could have been a lot of things. I mean, first off, I sort of got stabbed.”

 

Foggy winces as soon as it’s out. Not the most tactful way to bring it up.

 

He sneaks a peek at Matt’s face. Matt’s staring into space, face completely drained of color and expression blank.

 

“And how did you ‘sort of get stabbed’, Foggy?” Foggy swallows. He knows that voice. That’s Matt’s dangerous voice, the one he gets when he’s trying very hard to keep from freaking out.

 

 _Flipping_ out, a lot of the time. Matt’s got a bit of a temper, although you wouldn’t know it from looking at his ridiculous, dorky smile. Foggy counts himself privileged—and only a little worried—that Matt trusts him enough to let him see deeper, to understand that Matt’s not quite as perfect as he acts.

 

Foggy decides to tread carefully.

“A piece of glass from a window.” Foggy explains. “I kind of looked like a jelly donut.”

 

…So much for treading carefully. Foggy just tap-danced through a minefield. Sure, he wanted to tell Matt about the donut joke, but now was probably not the time.

 

“Glass.” Matt repeats faintly. “I don’t understand. How did the window break? It would need an incredible amount of force in order to—“ He doesn’t finish, but Foggy gets the point. He clears his throat.

 

“Bomb, I think.” Foggy says, giving up on tact. No more tap-dancing. “I wasn’t near enough to get burned or anything, but still near enough to make it count.” Matt tilts his head just a little until it almost looks like he’s meeting Foggy’s eyes. His own eyes are surprisingly focused through the tinted glasses, and it feels like Matt’s actually _seeing_ him somehow.

 

Foggy shakes his head sharply to dislodge the thought. That’s crazy. This glitch is just making him paranoid.

 

“Why were you near a bomb, Foggy?” He asks, and he sounds way too calm to actually _be_ calm. Definitely close to freaking/flipping out. “Where exactly were you when you ‘sort of got stabbed’?”

 

“I was at Elena’s apartment.” Foggy answers quickly. This is a slightly safer answer, slightly less of a bombshell—no pun intended, of course. Puns would be tacky, especially at a time like this.

 

Foggy is very lucky that Matt can’t see his lips twitch briefly at his own genius wit. He’d share, but he doesn’t think Matt would appreciate it right now.

 

“Elena?” Matt repeats, confused. “We don’t know anyone named Elena. Why would you be at her apartment?” His face darkens. “Are you involved in something? Is _she_ involved in something? Did this Elena threaten you?”

 

Foggy stares at him for a second.

 

“What goes _on_ in your mind?” He wonders, exasperated. “No, Elena did not threaten me. Elena’s lovely. She’s a client we meet today—she needs help with a bastard landlord, and she needs some repairs in her apartment so I go over to fix some stuff and—boom.”

 

Matt does not look happy at this, although he should be thrilled that they get a client. They need the business.

 

“You get stabbed because you’re playing home improvement at a _complete stranger’s_ _apartment_?” He asks incredulously. “Well, that’s simple then. We turn down the client. We keep you as far away from her as possible.”

 

“She needs her sink fixed!” Foggy argues, and Matt looks unimpressed. “Matt, no. We need to take the case. We can’t ignore someone asking for help.” Matt shakes his head.

 

“You are not going _near_ her. Let me—“ Matt stops suddenly, just as Nadine moseys out from the kitchen to take their orders. That was lucky—Foggy doesn’t want anyone but Matt knowing about this, and as kind and helpful as Nadine seems she is also pretty obviously a gossip.

 

“You want the buttermilk?” Foggy checks, and Matt shakes his head immediately.

 

“Double chocolate banana.” He says darkly. “I’m going to need it.”

 

“Yikes, _double_ chocolate?” Foggy asks, impressed. Chocolate banana is Matt’s comfort food. Double chocolate is the pancake equivalent of a mental breakdown. “Come on, it’s not that bad.” It’s pretty bad. Matt smiles tightly.

 

“Can I get an extra banana on top? And sprinkles?” Matt asks Nadine politely.

 

Foggy winces. Matt’s only gotten sprinkles once before now. He came into work one day with shadows under his eyes and an unshaven jaw, and he’d had a cut on his lip and a bruised cheek. He’d said he got into a fight, just something minor and he’d handled it, don’t worry, but he’d been weird all day. It had taken six pancakes with sprinkles and Foggy’s best jokes to get him to smile.

 

“It’s not a sprinkles day, Matty. I promise.” Foggy soothes, and Matt glares.

 

“As many sprinkles as you have. Any flavor.” He tells Nadine, and she shoots Foggy a sympathetic look and flees. “So, what’s our plan?”

 

Foggy had thought about it, and he thinks he has a good one.

 

“Okay, we grab Elena’s case and do the police station first. They’ll need time to find the bomb since I have no idea where it is. We can do Landman and Zack later—tomorrow, if we have to. I know exactly what to say there anyway. The police find the bomb, we get a good case, and everyone lives happily ever after. Oh, and somewhere in there we get sleeping pills and a lot of Sleepy Time tea—just in case, you know? Better safe than sorry.”

 

Insomnia is not an advantage during a glitch. You don’t fall asleep before midnight, you’re stuck. Foggy is not getting stuck as a jelly donut living in a disaster zone.

 

Matt looks dubious, but he nods.

 

“We only talk to this client as much as we absolutely have to, and you don’t go near her apartment. And we stay somewhere far away from windows.” He orders firmly. Foggy eyes the shiny windows of the diner and edges just a little away from them in his seat.

 

“Good plan.”

 

* * *

 

Brett’s at the station. He’s sitting right behind the desk, and he looks up and rolls his eyes when he sees them walk in.

 

He looks incredibly healthy.

 

“Are you infectious?” Foggy asks, suspicious but not of Brett. “Do you have a fever?” Brett eyes him up like Foggy’s crazy, which might not be too off the mark in general but is totally irrelevant right now. 

 

“No, Mom. I’m fine.” He drawls, a bit snidely.  “Do you need something, or is this a social call?”

 

“No cough? No stomachache? No sniffles?” Brett shakes his head, bewildered. “Not sick at all, huh?”

 

“Not even a little.” Brett informs him, even more baffled. Right. Not sick.

 

_He’s out sick. I’m talking to someone else instead._

Matt _lied._

 

“Well, that’s just dandy.” Foggy says brightly. “Good for you. Matt and I need some paperwork.” Brett sighs.

 

“Who doesn’t?” He complains, waving around the crowded station. “Alright, give me a second to finish up a report, and I’ll hook you up.”

 

“You are a beautiful individual, Brett Mahoney.” Foggy tells him earnestly, and drags Matt to sit down and wait. “You utter _bastard.”_ Foggy hisses under his breath as soon as they’re seated, and Matt blinks. “You told me Brett was sick last time. Why would you lie about that?”

 

Matt looks honestly puzzled.

 

“I have no idea.” He admits. “There must have been a reason. Maybe he was out of the station for a walk, or getting coffee. Something.” He considers. “Did I say anything else?”

 

“That you were talking to someone else instead.” Foggy recalls. “A guy named Blake.” Matt frowns.

 

“Blake?” He repeats thoughtfully. “I’ve never heard the name before.”

 

“You said he was a detective.” Foggy informs him, suspicion still roiling in his stomach. Something doesn’t feel right here. He never wants to doubt Matt, but something's not right here.

 

“Well, I must have had some reason for talking to him.” Matt points out, seeming a little distracted. “Maybe he’s a friend of Brett’s.”

 

“I don’t know. Brett never mentioned—“ Foggy starts, but he’s cut off when there’s a sharp cracking bang from nearby.

 

People are yelling and running towards the shot, and one of the interrogation rooms opens, a man stepping out.

 

“Detective Blake!” An officer cries out. “What happened?”

 

Foggy freezes. Detective Blake. _This_ is Detective Blake, and his gun is slightly askew in its holster.

 

He fired the shot. He just _shot_ someone during an interrogation. Matt was _talking_ to this man? Foggy cranes his neck, trying to see around Blake into the room. He can’t make anything out, but when he looks back he sees that Blake is staring at him. Blake doesn’t look upset. He just shot someone, and he looks completely calm. No, not calm. He looks _smug._ There’s something about his expression, something cold, that makes Foggy shiver and look away.

 

Matt’s already moving, dragging Foggy to his feet and away of the station and the mayhem.

 

“What the hell’s going on?” Foggy asks, and Matt pulls him faster, turning the corner and nearly breaking into a run. “Look, I know you’ve been here before and you know the area, but you’re going to trip if you don’t let me lead.” Foggy tries to tell him gently.

 

Matt doesn’t stop walking, but he does move so that his hand is tucked in the crook of Foggy’s elbow.

 

“Fine.” He grits out. “Lead. Now.” Foggy blinks but obeys, pace almost a sprint. Matt refuses to slow down, and Foggy doesn’t want him to wander into traffic.

 

“Once again, _what the hell?”_ Foggy hisses. “You must have heard the gunshot the first time. That means you lied about Brett _and_ the shot. And there’s no way you talked to Blake after that fiasco—he’d be dealing with the fallout and to be honest? He seems nuts. So you lied about that too.”

 

“I don’t _know.”_ Matt tells him, sounding frustrated. “I just—I _must_ have had a reason.” Foggy eyes him warily for a moment before helping him cross the street.

 

“A _reason._ You know, you’ve been saying that a lot today.” He points out, guarded. “And yet I can’t think of a single _reason_ that would explain you lying so much. Can you?”

 

“I don’t know what to tell you.” Matt sighs, looking guilty and miserable. “I don’t know what I was thinking, because I wasn’t there. Maybe Brett was on his lunch break. Maybe I talked to Blake before the gunshot. Foggy, I don’t _know.”_

 

The thing is, it’s possible. Matt’s right that things might have been tweaked just a little last time, and Foggy can never know because he hadn’t _been_ there.

 

Matt might have talked to Blake—Foggy doesn’t quite remember when Matt called last time. Maybe he just missed the gunshot and didn’t know at all. Or maybe he _was_ there, finishing up paperwork with Brett (who had just maybe returned from his maybe lunch break), and he’d heard the shot and then been stuck at the station for questioning. It would explain why Matt hadn’t visited—he’d been giving his statement instead. He might have been there for hours filling out forms and talking to officers.

 

It might be true. And the thing is, Foggy desperately wants it to be. He doesn’t want Matt to have lied to him, and everything that Matt’s saying is _possible._ It’s really a question of whether Foggy trusts Matt not to lie to him.

 

Matt would _never_ lie to him.

 

“Okay.” He says slowly. “I trust you. You’re right, there must have been a rational explanation. You wouldn’t lie.” Matt smiles at him hesitantly.

 

“Thank you for believing me.” He mumbles, and he _still_ sounds guilty. Even more than before, the weirdo. “So, what now?” He seems eager to shake off the police station incident.

 

“Well, we still have to report the bomb.” Foggy points out. “But the police station’s going to be scrambled, and I’m not that eager to be around Detective Blake at the moment. Or ever.”

 

“We go back to your apartment.” Matt suggests. “We call in the bomb anonymously, and we stay away from windows. It’ll be fine.”

 

“It’s not _fine.”_ Foggy argues. “A guy just got shot.” Matt winces, and Foggy sighs. “But yeah, that’s a good plan—or at least it’s the only one we have right now.”

 

“Good.” Matt says, relieved. He was clearly expecting more of an argument. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe.”

 

He sounds so earnest, expression determined and stance vigilant. He looks a little like a guard dog, Foggy thinks affectionately. And honestly, they’re going to be sitting in Foggy’s room and doing nothing all day. There’s not really much to keep Foggy safe from.

 

It’s still a sweet offer, so Foggy rolls his eyes and smiles.

 

“I know you will.” 

 

* * *

 

It’s actually smarter to call in the bomb, Foggy realizes. If Foggy keeps this day, it will be incredibly awkward afterwards trying to explain why they knew so much about it—people might think they were involved. No, anonymity is key.

 

After giving as much information as they can on the bomb’s location—a lot of guesstimating is involved—they sit on Foggy’s bed, talking and playing games to distract themselves. They leave the TV turned onto the news, and Foggy takes frequent breaks to check about a dozen other sources on his phone.

 

At 10:30, the story hits the news.

 

_“A suspected terrorist attack has been thwarted today thanks to an anonymous tip. An explosive device was found and disarmed mere minutes before it would have detonated. No one is sure who called in the threat, but many are already dubbing this unknown individual the ‘Guardian Angel of Hell’s Kitchen’. More details at eleven—“_

“We did it.” Foggy whispers, stunned. “Oh my god, we actually _did_ it. We just saved Hell’s Kitchen.”

 

It takes another second for the news to sink in, but when it does he fairly tackles Matt into a hug. Matt falls against the headboard with a slight, possibly painful thunk, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He hugs Foggy back tightly, laughing.

 

“I knew you could do it.” Matt says proudly. “You’re a hero.” Foggy pulls away to beam at him.

 

“No, _we’re_ heroes.” He corrects Matt cheerfully. “We are legit heroes. We just saved an entire city.” He grins and pokes Matt. “So, how does it feel, being one half of a dynamic duo?” Foggy teases. “The sidekick half, obviously.” Matt laughs again.

 

“It feels pretty good.” He admits, looking dazed but happy. Foggy gives him one last fierce squeeze of a hug before jumping to his feet.

 

“We need to celebrate. We are heroes, and we deserve a victory party.” He rushes to the kitchen, and Matt follows after, grinning. Foggy peeks into the fridge to see what’s on tap. “Would you prefer chocolate milk or apple juice for our victory toast?”

 

“I suppose we can pretend the apple juice is champagne.” Matt muses thoughtfully, and Foggy cheers. He doesn’t actually have champagne flutes, so instead they drink apple juice out of battered coffee mugs and make ridiculous toasts about avocados and superheroes.

 

The apple juice has absolutely no alcohol in it, but Foggy still feels buzzed. He’s high on success and an impending sugar rush, and Matt’s laughing and wrapping an arm around his shoulders and everything’s perfect. He got it right on his first glitch. _No one_ gets it right on their first glitch—the whole point is that you’re so off-track that you need five to do it right. The universe pities you.

 

The universe clearly did not plan for Matt Murdock.

“Okay, one more.” Foggy promises, topping off their mugs. He has to upturn the jug entirely to get any out, but one drop is still enough for a toast. It’s the thought that counts.

 

“If this _were_ champagne, I’d say you were trying to get me drunk.” Matt accuses wryly, and Foggy laughs.

 

“You’re such a lightweight, you probably _are_ drunk.” He points out. Honestly, Matt could get drunk on air. It’s sort of adorable. “Seriously, big toast. The best, biggest toast of the night.”

 

“Better than a toast to the avocados who will one day become a delicious guacamole of greatness?” Matt asks with affected astonishment. “Be still my heart.”

 

“That was an amazing toast. You loved it.” Foggy reminds him gleefully. “But this one is even better.” He hefts his mug. “Ready?”

 

Matt shrugs and smiles indulgently, raising his mug.

 

“Okay, impress me.” He challenges. Foggy takes a moment to gather his courage. He wasn’t lying—it _is_ a big toast.

 

“This is a toast to Matt Murdock, the new Guardian Angel of Hell’s Kitchen.” Foggy announces, and he’s beaming like an idiot but he can’t bring himself to care. “And my guardian angel since the moment I met him.”

 

“Oh.” Matt says faintly. It’s clear from his stunned expression that he was expecting a joke. He just sort of stands there, frozen and blank, and it’s not exactly the reaction Foggy was hoping for.

 

“Sorry.” Foggy apologizes sheepishly, flushing pink in the face of this less-than-optimal response. “I guess that was probably a little corny—“

 

“ _Thank you.”_ Matt whispers, and he’s not blank anymore. He’s actually crying, kind of, but in the best way—the one where your whole face is glowing around it and you can’t stop smiling. God, that _smile._ “Foggy, _thank you.”_

 

 _That’s_ the reaction Foggy was hoping for. Matt looks happy, happier than he’s looked in months, and even though his face is getting red and blotchy from the crying he’s still probably the most breathtaking thing Foggy’s ever seen.

 

“To you.” Foggy says quietly, tapping their mugs together. They both take a long sip. “See? Best toast of the night.”

 

“No.” Matt tells him softly. “No, I have a better one.” He raises his mug again, and it’s _empty,_ the absolute dork. There’s nothing left to toast with. “To _us_.”

 

“To us.” Foggy agrees, tapping their empty mugs together gently.

 

The timer on Foggy’s phone goes off.

 

11:00.

 

Foggy has one moment of total bliss that it’s over, he’s done it, before Matt’s eyes go wide and he tackles Foggy to the ground. Foggy’s about to ask if this is part of the toast, and also mention that he’s totally on board with this full-body contact sort of celebration, when the window shatters.

 

Another bomb. _Two,_ not one. Foggy got it wrong.

 

Matt doesn’t even _scream,_ even though it must be hurting him. He doesn’t move away either, even when glass is raining down on them in a jagged storm. He’s covering every inch of Foggy, a warm shield of skin and bone and stupid, selfless courage. Foggy hates him for a second, for doing this—Matt shouldn’t risk his life for anything, let alone Foggy.

 

It’s over in less than a minute.

 

“You asshole.” Foggy gasps when he’s relatively sure it’s safe to move. “What the hell were you thinking? You could have died!”

 

He sort of wants to shove Matt off of him and then shove him some more until Matt gets the picture that you do not risk your life, not even for me, you do not _do_ that, you stupid, beautiful man. He wants to, but Matt’s covered in glass and possibly hurt, so he doesn’t.

 

Matt groans, burying his face in Foggy’s shoulder.

 

“I’ve had worse.” He mumbles, somewhat nonsensically. When the hell would he have had worse than being showered with razor-sharp glass?

 

“Well, good for you, Mr. Macho Man.” Foggy says, and it’s not as snarky as he wants because he’s still having trouble breathing. Jesus, Matt almost died for him. Matt _would_ have died for him. “Thank you.”

 

Foggy runs careful hands over Matt’s shirt and hair, trying to get as much as the jagged glass dust off as he can without hurting either of them. Matt’s got more than a few shallow cuts and scrapes, but he seems remarkably unharmed considering the, oh, you know,  _razor-sharp glass._

 

“Wow, you know how to take a hit, don’t you?” He muses, impressed. Matt hums happily.

 

“Mm-hmm.” He agrees, sounding absurdly pleased. Foggy rolls his eyes fondly. If Matt's healthy enough to brag, he's going to be alright.

 

“We should probably still take a look at them.” He points out firmly. “Get up—you’re heavy.” Matt huffs but does, groaning again when he sits up and shaking some of the remaining glass off of him like it’s water instead of yeah, look at that, it's still _Razor. Sharp. Glass_. Then he stands, and is incredibly patronizing when he offers Foggy a hand to help him up.

 

Matt’s standing there after basically having a window broken over his head, and he’s helping Foggy up. Completely uninjured, perfectly fine Foggy. Idiot. Foggy takes his hand anyway. He’s feeling a little shaky. As soon as he’s up though, he’s leading Matt back into the bedroom to sit down on the bed, away from all the glass.

 

“I really am okay.” Matt tells him earnestly, pulling off his shirt. Foggy doesn’t even have time to appreciate the view, too busy scrutinizing the cuts and trying to determine how bad it is.

 

Going to a hospital would be tough, but Foggy would probably fight his way through somehow if Matt needed it. He can be pretty menacing when he needs to be. Maybe. Sometimes. In the right light.

 

Matt’s not _okay,_ but he’s right that they’re not that bad. They’re splinters more than anything—bad splinters, but still splinters.

 

“We might need tweezers.” Foggy informs him apologetically, and Matt sighs but doesn’t seem nearly as apprehensive as Foggy thought he would. Honestly, it’s the sigh of someone who has just realized they have a dentist’s appointment, not exactly pleasant but also not that big of a deal. “Do you need something for the pain?”

 

He’s got Tylenol PM, he thinks. They could both take some of that, since Foggy’s got to get Matt patched up and himself to sleep within an hour.

 

“No, I’m fine.” Matt assures him, and the scary part is that he really _does_ seem fine. His voice is barely strained at all, and he’s looking calm and collected. Honestly, Foggy’s probably freaking out more than Matt is. “All I’ll need are a few bandages." 

 

“Mr. Macho, seriously.” Foggy complains, but he goes to get the bandages. “Okay, we have—Mickey Mouse or the Muppets. I think I might have some Hello Kitty in there too, somewhere, but I’d have to look…” See, _now_ Matt looks apprehensive. Foggy can’t fight back a grin. “You’re a Mickey Mouse guy, I think. A sweet little hero with a big heart.”

 

“I am?” Matt’s apprehension has faded to slight surprise and delight. Foggy nods, opening the box and sitting down on the bed.

 

“Definitely _my_ hero.” He offers, brushing a few more stubborn pieces glass carefully out of Matt’s hair with the sleeve of his shirt. “But next time let me do the crazy heroic stuff, alright? Can’t let you have all the fun.”

 

“Yes, Foggy.” Matt mumbles obediently, but Foggy’s pretty sure that the next time they’re in danger, Matt’s going to try and do the exact same thing. He really is a hero. Foggy’s not going to _let_ him do the exact same thing, not ever again, but Matt’s going to try anyway.

 

Foggy chooses the most embarrassing Band-Aids he can find, and once Matt’s free of glass and plastered from head to toe, Foggy goes to make tea. He downs his sleeping pills while he’s waiting for the water to boil, wincing at the taste, and points a warning finger at Matt when the dummy tries to follow after him, wearing nothing but boxers and Mickey Mouse Band-Aids.

 

“Bad Matt. Stay.” Foggy orders firmly, and Matt frowns.

 

“But what if something goes wrong?” He asks, worried. “I need to be close by so I can protect you.”

 

“Get. Back. In. Bed.” Foggy tells him, and he honestly wishes he was saying it under better circumstances, but such is life. “I will be back in a minute. Besides, it’s not like the window can blow up again.”

 

He casts a mournful look towards the window. Completely shattered, and it would cost a fortune to repair if he kept this day. Honestly, Foggy’s not sure he wants to repair it. He’s been having some bad experiences with windows lately.

 

“But—“

 

“Bed, Matt.” Foggy commands in his scariest voice. Matt doesn’t look that scared, but he does sigh and shuffle back into the bedroom.

 

“I’m stealing your robe!” Matt calls from inside, and Foggy grins. His robe is nice and soft and just a little see-through. Perfect for Matt (and for those staring at Matt).

 

“You do that.” He offers generously, and finishes with the tea. When he heads back into the room, he has to take a second. Matt waiting on his bed wearing pretty much nothing but Foggy’s robe is a…pleasant image.

 

He doesn’t let his mind go any further than ‘pleasant’, because now is not the time. He needs to fall asleep, and thinking about Matt in his bed would probably keep him up for hours if he let it.

 

“Mm, this is good.” Matt says when he takes a sip, surprised. Foggy beams, although none of this is new. He makes Matt tea all the time and it's always perfect, but Matt always seems stunned that Foggy cared enough to remember and Foggy always gets embarrassingly proud and pleased when Matt compliments him with that warm, appreciative look on his face. 

 

“Two tablespoons of honey.” Foggy brags. “Just how you like it. Now budge over. I’ve got twenty minutes to grab a train to the Land of Nod, and I need to be comfy.”

 

Matt shifts over enough to let Foggy lie down next to him, and they spend the next ten minutes sipping tea in companionable silence. Foggy checks the news, but there’s nothing good—just dramatic ‘oh, how awful it all is’ while the reporters are looking gleeful, but nothing about the locations.

 

“Guess we’re going to have to do this the hard way.” Foggy slurs a little, dizzy and tired. He puts down his tea and settles down into bed. “See you tomorrow?”

 

“Well, _a_ me, I suppose.” Matt tells him thoughtfully. “Me or another Matt.” Foggy hums, sleepy and thoughtful.

 

“Both.” He mumbles, wiggling his fingers. “Wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey.” Matt laughs and runs a gentle hand through his hair.

 

“Alright. Tell Other Matt I say hi.” He whispers, and strokes Foggy’s hair until he falls asleep. “Sweet dreams, Foggy.”

 

* * *

 

_“Let’s do the time warp again!”_

Foggy rolls over to poke Matt awake—and maybe appreciate him for a another second to two in that robe—before realizing that he’s alone again. Right. Glitch.

 

Damn it.

 

He looks at his wrist. Four tallies, one faded away like it was never there. Four more chances to get it right. He needs to do better this time.

 

_“With a bit of a mind flip, you’re there in the time slip, and nothing can ever be the same!”_

 

He calls Matt and tells him to come to the diner again, and also to say hi to Claire. Matt gives the same flustered ‘we’re just friends’ speech, but Foggy’s not buying it. Still, he’s hungry and he doesn’t have time to angst over his hopeless, tragic love life, so he lets it go. He’s got a save a city. The wallowing can come later, over a pint of victory ice cream.

 

Matt seems just as thrilled about the glitch as he did last time, and he orders the chocolate banana again. He _does_ order them without sprinkles this time, which is a good sign. Foggy grins at him, delighted—they must be on the right track if Matt’s skipping the sprinkles of doom and gloom.

 

“She likes you.” Matt muses when Nadine’s done handing out their food—with an extra strip of bacon for Foggy.

 

“I know.” Foggy tells him smugly. “We have a lovely relationship based on fruitless flirting and nice hair.” Matt rolls his eyes and smiles.

 

“Sounds like an ideal romance.” He teases, taking a bite of his pancakes. “And these are wonderful, but why are we talking here instead of somewhere more private?”

 

“Hiding in plain sight.” Foggy explains sagely. “And all the movies say that you should keep as much the same as you can. Otherwise you end up with a robot apocalypse or your mom wanting to date you. Icky stuff.” He shrugs. “Plus, you know. Pancakes.”

 

Matt nods the point.

 

“Fair enough.” He admits, taking another bite. “So, do we have a plan?”

 

Their last plan was clearly not good enough, so Foggy’s been thinking all morning about it while waiting for Matt to wake up. This time it’s going to work.

 

“Okay, we eat a delicious breakfast—most important meal of the day, after all. Then we grab Elena’s case and call in the bombs. That part worked pretty well last time, we just didn’t know how many there were. After that, I think we should get really, really high.”

 

Matt looks doubtful.

 

“I’m not sure that drugs are the answer here.” He tells Foggy carefully. “I understand that you must be stressed, but it’s probably better to be in our right minds.” Foggy stares at him for a few seconds.

 

“So, not sure which part is scarier—the fact that you thought I’d want to take drugs while trying to save the city, or the fact that you seem to know how to get your hands on said drugs. Is there something you need to tell me, Matt?” Matt's expression remains tauntingly, infuriatingly unruffled. 

 

“I need to tell you that you’ll be paying for breakfast.” Matt says sweetly. “So, by ‘high’ you mean—“

 

“ _Altitude_ high. Like, on top of a building.” Foggy explains, amused. “So we can scout for bombs if the police miss them.” Matt nods slowly.

 

“That’s actually a pretty good plan.” He sounds impressed, and also surprised. That's flattering, alright. 

 

“You don’t need to sound so shocked.” Foggy snaps, stung. “I do occasionally have good ideas.” Matt smiles apologetically, reaching across the table to take Foggy’s hand.

 

“I know.” He soothes. “I just meant that it’s rare for someone to be so proactive with their glitch. Usually they waste them on wild behavior since they know they won’t get caught.” Foggy considers him for a second.

 

“Wild behavior like getting really, really high?” He wonders innocently. “Matt Murdock, are you one of those reckless little rascals?” A thought strikes him. “Wait, _did_ you already have your glitch? Did you actually get high during it? And if so, why didn’t you tell me? We could have shared the love.”

 

“I’m relatively sure you've never taken an illegal drug in your life, despite your posturing.” Matt muses. “And no, I haven’t glitched. I imagine it will probably come up though. I make a lot of mistakes.”

 

Foggy is pretty sure this isn’t true. He can’t remember Matt _ever_ making a mistake, actually, or at least not a glitch-worthy one, but Matt seems certain—and guilty. Matt always seems so guilty lately, poor guy. There’s nothing to feel guilty over, so maybe it’s just a Catholic thing.

 

Foggy flips his hand under Matt’s so he can lace their fingers together.

 

“Well, I’m glad.” He says kindly. “This way I can help you too. No drugs though. I think I might have an addictive personality, if my coffee and sugar intake is any indication.” He laughs. “I have a tendency to love the things that are bad for me.”

 

Matt smiles, and he looks a little wistful.

 

“So do I.”

 

* * *

 

They finish their breakfast and go to the office.

 

It goes well with Elena. Sure, Matt and Karen still have their gooey moment of Spanish-speaking flirtation, but Foggy’s strong so he ignores it. And Matt’s not as into it as he was the last two times. He seems distracted, and Foggy thinks it’s probably because he’s worrying about the glitch. It’s probably awful that Foggy’s happy about that, but he is. The less Spanish, the better.

 

After the meeting, they hide out in Matt’s office to plan their next move—and their shopping list.

 

“Okay, sleeping pills, obviously.” Foggy scribbles down. “The kind I had last time worked well. A thermos of Sleepy Time, and maybe some sleeping bags? It depends where we end up. A map to mark down where the bombs are, and something to mark with. Oh, and snacks. A good stakeout requires good snacks.”

 

“You make it sound like we’re going camping.” Matt teases him, smiling. Foggy grins.

 

“We always said we were going to, but _somebody_ was scared of mosquitos.” Matt glares.

 

“You know I have sensitive skin.” He argues, stung. “I wasn’t scared, I was sensible.” Foggy shrugs.

 

“Sure, whatever you say.” He says lightly. “It’s cold enough that we don’t have to worry about bugs. This is the perfect time to go extreme urban camping in a dangerous neighborhood, dirt poor and desperate. A hobo’s life for us, right Matt? Drink up Sleepy Time tea, me hearties…?”

 

“Yo ho.” Matt sighs, exasperated but indulgent.

 

“I’m adding that to our list of campfire songs tonight.” Foggy tells him cheerfully. “We don’t have a campfire, but we can get a flashlight. It’s basically the same thing.”

 

“I guess I won’t be able to tell the difference.” Matt admits without a bit of bitterness. “Should we get started on your worryingly large shopping list?”

 

“Heck yeah.” Foggy agrees. “First we’ve got to let Karen know we’re taking the rest of the day off. I don’t really know how to spin that, honestly. I mean, it was easy with the station, but now we’re just wandering off camping without her. I don’t want to hurt her feelings by telling her she’s not invited.”

 

“I’ll handle it.” Matt assures him, going for the door. He pauses with his hand on the handle, turning back to Foggy. “You know this is the right thing to do, don’t you? Sometimes we have to lie to the people we love, no matter how much we hate doing it. It keeps them safe.”

 

Foggy blinks at him.

 

“Uh, I guess.” He says, confused. “I mean, I’m going to tell her tomorrow once this is all over, so it’s not really that big of a lie. I wouldn’t just keep something like this from her. That’s not what friends do.”

 

“No one likes a liar.” Matt agrees, face pale and smile forced. He must be nervous about Karen’s reaction when she finds out.

 

“Yeah, she’s probably going to be pissed, but don’t worry. I’ll get her to forgive us.” Foggy reassures him. “I’m going to be extra nice after this. Buy her coffee, tell her how pretty she looks, everything.” Matt smiles at him.

 

“You already do that.” He points out gently, and Foggy shrugs.

 

“She deserves the best.” Matt’s smile quirks a little oddly, and his fingers tighten briefly on the doorknob.

 

“You really do like her, don’t you?” He murmurs. Foggy nods easily.

 

“Sure. She’s great.” It’s true. If he weren’t already head-over-heels for Matt, Karen would totally be his type. He likes confident, beautiful blondes.

 

And Matt. He has no idea how Matt slipped in there, except for the tiny detail that Matt is perfect.

 

“Right. Great.” Matt repeats softly. “Fantastic. Let’s go.” He sounds weird, kind of hoarse like he's catching a cold, and Foggy decides to add cold medicine to their shopping list. He'll need Matt in tip-top shape. 

 

“Are you two okay?” Karen looks worried when they emerge. “You were in there for a while. You’re not nervous about Mrs. Cardenas, are you?”

 

“No, not at all.” Matt assures her kindly. “Foggy already has a few good ideas that we think will work.” This is true. Foggy knows _exactly_ what will work, or at least all the ideas they'll come up with today. The hard work is done, at least in that area. Now the hardest work begins. “Actually, we were just finishing up. Foggy and I were planning to take this afternoon off.”

 

“Really?” Karen looks surprised. “But we just got the case. Is something wrong?” Matt shakes his head. He doesn’t look nervous at all about the cover story.

 

“No, we just wanted to spend some time together. It’s been stressful, starting out, and we haven’t gotten a chance to be just _us_ in a while.” He slings an arm around Foggy’s shoulders, smiling warmly. “It’s important for partners to stay close.”

 

 _Very_ close, apparently. Matt’s practically on top of him. He’s laying it on a bit thick, the buddy-partners thing. They’re already plenty close as friends, and Karen knows it. Still, Matt probably knows what he’s doing. Foggy shrugs it off mentally and relaxes into the touch.

 

“Yep.” He agrees easily, and Karen blinks, looking between them.

 

“ _Oh.”_ She says, voice faint and a bit defeated, and then she shakes it off and smiles at them brightly. “ _Close._ Okay, I get it. Good for you.”

 

The way she says ‘close’ raises about a dozen red flags. She sounds a little too knowing, her smile a little too meaningful. Foggy would be thrilled to keep letting her believe that he and Matt are ‘close’ in an entirely different way, but that’s really not fair to either her or Matt.

 

“Well, I should probably clarify—“ Matt squeezes his shoulders tightly.

 

“Thank you. Come on, Foggy. We need to go grocery shopping.”

 

Foggy hesitates. He really should tell the truth, but he’s already going to be confessing another lie to Karen tomorrow anyway. Why make Karen angry before he has to? And if he does them all at once, it might be slightly less painful for him. Probably not, but maybe.

 

“Call if you need anything.” Foggy tells her, and Karen nods, still smiling knowingly.

 

“Have a nice time.”

 

Foggy waves at her as he leads Matt out. As soon as they’re far enough away, he groans.

 

“And now our secretary thinks we’re screwing each other.” He complains. “That’s going to be even harder to explain than the glitch.” Matt pats his hand comfortingly.

 

“She doesn’t think we’re _screwing_ each other.” He reassures him. “She thinks that we’re _dating_ each other. They’re not the same thing at all.” When Foggy groans again, Matt squeezes his hand. “Don’t worry. We’ll tell her it was a misunderstanding tomorrow.”

 

Foggy never wants to tell her, actually. He doesn’t want to admit it’s a lie, because he desperately wants it to be the truth. That’s not fair though. Matt was nice enough to pretend for a day, even though it might ruin his chances with Karen. He doesn’t need Foggy dragging it out.

 

“Mm.” He says, because he can’t quite bring himself to say that yes, they should tell Karen ASAP. He wants it to be _true_. “So, shopping?”

 

“Shopping.” Matt agrees. Two hours later, they’ve got several bags of loot.

 

“I guess now is the time to get really, really high.” Foggy suggests easily, and nudges Matt. “So, Mr. Reckless. You going to hook me up with your dealer? Flash him a gang sign and score some sweet molly?”

 

Matt smiles and pinches Foggy’s arm. Hard.

 

“I think I actually _do_ know someone who can get us really, really high.” He admits lightly. “Start walking.”

 

Foggy is a little worried, but he starts walking.

 

* * *

 

The person who can get them really, really high (on a building) is Matt’s girlfriend. Matt’s girlfriend who is apparently just like Matt—a dark-haired, dark-eyed beauty who has dedicated their life to helping people and then charming said people with their dazzling smiles.

 

They _match._ Stupid beautiful people, Foggy thinks bitterly. They just stick together like magnets, and what sort of chance does a plain-yet-plucky guy like Foggy have? He’s the other magnet—he _repels_ beautiful people. What’s worse is, Claire seems absolutely lovely on the inside as well as on the outside.

 

“Matt’s told me so much about you.” She says kindly. Foggy shuffles awkwardly and gives her a little wave.

 

“Uh, same.” He mumbles, even though Matt’s told him pretty much _nothing_ about Claire except her name— _after_ Foggy already figured out he had a girlfriend.

 

“So, how long do you two need the roof?” Claire asks, leading them up the stairs. “I can cover for a few hours, but I’m not sure you can stay the whole night.”

 

“Just until midnight.” Matt promises.

 

“We tried haggling for more time, but the Fairy Godmother said no—and turned Matt into a frog, as you can see.” Foggy quips, waving grandly to the distinctly un-froglike and entirely lovely Matt. Claire smiles at him.

 

“I think the cure for that is true love’s kiss, isn’t it?” She offers casually.

 

Foggy winces. Ouch, flirting right here in front of him—and talking about ‘true love’ too. Isn’t that a little fast? There’s no way that Matt’s been dating her for that long. He would have _told_ Foggy. He tells Foggy everything.

 

Eventually.

 

“Thank you for the advice.” Matt tells her, but he does _not_ look happy. Maybe he’s not comfortable flirting around Foggy. It’s never been a problem before, but maybe Claire’s special. “But I think we’ll get by.”

 

“Yes, you’re very good at getting by.” Claire agrees, and Foggy looks between the two of them, nervous. There seems to be some tension here, some sort of secret conversation he’s not privy to. “But you could do more, if you let yourself.”

 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Matt says mildly, and there is _definitely_ something going on here. Foggy hopes they’re not going through a rough patch. He doesn’t need relationship drama right now.

 

On the other hand, a rough patch means they might break up. Foggy likes Claire already, but an unattached Matt is the best Matt. No, a Foggy-dating Matt is the best Matt, but that doesn’t seem to be on the menu in any universe. Foggy will settle.

 

“Well. I guess it’s your decision.” Claire sighs, looking disappointed. “Foggy, it really was nice to meet you. Matt’s told me a lot of great things. It was nice to meet man behind the myth.”

 

“Sorry.” Foggy smiles sheepishly. “I probably didn’t live up to the hype.” Claire regards them for a moment, thoughtful.

 

“No. No, I think you did.” She tells him. “Matt said you were the perfect partner.” Foggy turns to beam at Matt.

 

“Did you really?” Matt shrugs, looking uncomfortable. “Aw, you _do_ care.” He ruffles Matt’s hair. “And somehow you’ve managed to fool your girlfriend into thinking I’m cool, so you also must do magic.”

 

Matt winces, looking even more uncomfortable.

 

“I’m not his girlfriend.” Claire corrects him bluntly. Foggy blinks at her. “I’m just a friend who happens to be a girl.”

 

She looks completely at ease with the admission, and also honest. Foggy looks back at Matt, who is nodding, then back at Claire.

 

“Wait, seriously?” Foggy asks incredulously. “The ‘just friends’ speech _actually_ meant you were just friends?” Is that even possible? But...magnets. Pretty people. Both nod. “Oh. Cool, sorry about the mix-up.”

 

He sort of wants to break out into a happy-dance, but that might seem rude. Claire and Matt really _would_ make a nice couple, and he would totally support them while secretly sobbing into his pillow at night. He kind of prefers this route though, where he has a snowball’s chance in hell that Matt might eventually date him. If Claire was in the mix, he’d have a _snowflake’s_ chance in hell.

 

“It’s fine.” Claire reassures him. “I suppose I’ll leave you two alone for your—evening.” She looks like she’s not quite what to call it, which is fair. Two guys camping out on top of a hospital is not normal by any stretch of the imagination.

 

“And you’ll look into the rest?” Matt prods gently. Claire nods again, brisk.

 

“It’ll get done.” She promises.

 

One of the reasons that Claire is pretty obviously an awesome person is that when Matt asked her to get as many medical supplies together as she could, she’d agreed. She didn’t even ask questions, like she almost _expected_ something like this. Either Matt is more charming than Foggy thought, or Claire just trusts him that much. Matt’s probably going to want to tell her later, even if she’s an apparent girl friend rather than girlfriend. That’s okay, because Foggy’s going to tell Karen too. You’re not supposed to tell anyone even after the glitch—there are laws about it—but Foggy’s already broken the rules. Why not go the distance?

 

When the door closes, Foggy turns to Matt.

 

“So, she seems nice. Very nice friend-girl material. I mean, nice girlfriend material too—she’s really pretty, in case you were wondering—but either way. Good pick.”

 

“I sincerely hope you’re not thinking of asking her out.” Matt tells him, walking past Foggy to put down their bags. “I’m not sure which one of you to threaten about heart-breaking.”

 

“Claire, definitely.” Foggy assures him. “You know me. I’m not really a heartbreaker.”

 

“Hmm.” Matt muses with a small, strange smile. “You’d be surprised.”

 

Foggy supposes that’s probably a compliment—possibly—so he lets it slide.

 

They sit on the edge of the building, legs dangling over the side and shoulders bumping together. Foggy’s not scared of heights at all, and it really is a beautiful view. Matt can’t appreciate the view, but he’s not scared of _anything._ Foggy thinks he might like showing off a little about how daring he is. So long as he doesn’t fall off the building, Foggy’s cool with it.

 

They sit there for hours, just talking. It's reminiscing, often, but also talking about the future. Nelson and Murdock is going places, Foggy can tell. Foggy describes the city and Matt offers dry commentary on Foggy’s obvious embellishments—‘No, really, there’s Godzilla in drag, and he’s fighting Iron Man.’ ‘I’m not sure who I’m rooting for. They’ve both got a tendency to destroy buildings and a flair for the dramatic, but I suppose Godzilla probably looks better in a dress.’

 

Eventually Foggy looks at his phone. 10:59, bright on the screen.

 

“Okay, ready?” Matt nods and kicks his leg gently.

 

“Always.”

 

The world catches fire, and Foggy can actually see it happening this time, fire blooming like flowers across the city.

 

Two explosions. The news had said they found the two they called in today, which means there are four altogether. He looks at the map and fairly stabs the Sharpie into the paper to sketch circles for the blast zones. He does it fast, because he’s sure that any second, something will go horribly wrong. No windows this time, but the universe will find a way.

 

Nothing happens.

 

“Huh.” He glances at Matt, who is taut as a bowstring and staring straight ahead. Foggy looks at his phone again. “11:05. I think we’re good.”

 

“And the bombs?” Matt urges. Foggy hesitates.

 

“I’ve got a rough estimate, but wish I had something better.” Foggy admits, looking down at his map guiltily. “I hate guessing like this. I’m scared that it won’t be enough. It took them until 10:45 this time, and they’ll have two more to find.”

 

He’s got three more days to do a better job tracking the bombs. He’ll need to have better information, but if he gets too close trying to find the bombs, he won’t have _any_ information. Foggy’s not sure what happens if you die during a glitch, but he’s not eager to find out.

 

Matt bites his lip for a moment, looking torn. Finally he swallows and squares his shoulders.

 

“I think I can help you.” He tells Foggy tentatively. Foggy nods, reaching out to touch his arm.

 

“You are. I think I’d have gone crazy, trying to do this on my own.” Foggy assures him. Matt shakes his head slowly.

 

“You don’t have to thank me, but I was talking about—the next Matt, he can help you.” Matt looks pale and small. “Just tell him that you know about the senses.”

 

“Senses?” Foggy repeats, confused. “What senses?” Matt gives a shaky twitch of a grin.

 

“Everything but sight.” He explains, tight and tense. “And enhanced enough that I could probably find a bomb if you got me close enough.”

 

“You can _sense bombs_?” Foggy asks incredulously. Matt nods. “You didn’t mention that the last time I glitched—or, you know, _ever_.” Matt winces.

 

“I was probably too scared to try.” He admits sheepishly. “I thought you’d hate me.” Foggy stares at him.

 

“You thought I’d hate you for being able to sense bombs?” He wonders, disbelieving. _“Why?_ ” It's a strange talent, sure, not one usually found outside helpers of the canine variety, but Matt can act kind of like a puppy sometimes. There's nothing scary about it though, nothing to hate Matt about, although Foggy does wonder worriedly about where and when Matt discoveded this little trick. Does he encounter many bombs in day-to-day living? Matt shrugs.

 

“Not just bombs.” He grits out, obviously struggling. “A lot of things. Feeling out words in ink if it's bold enough and the right kind, tracking with heat, hearing…heartbeats.” He hesitates on the last word, for some reason that Foggy cannot fathom.

 

“Matt, that is so _awesome.”_ He breathes, awed. 

 

“Really?” Matt asks, and he looks so hopeful and surprised that Foggy has to touch him more, somehow.

 

He can’t really kiss, since he doesn’t want to leave this Foggy with an awkward situation when Matt says no. Instead he leans over so they’re touching from shoulder to hip, legs bumping together and hands held clasped between them.

 

“Absolutely.” Foggy assures him warmly. “Come on, I want to see how this works. We can steal some lollipops from the doctors’ offices and you can tell me what the mystery flavor is without licking.” He considers. “Can you do that? Is that a thing?”

 

“I can.” Matt tells him, sounding thrilled and hesitantly proud. “I think I can do that.”

 

“Sweet! In every sense of the word.” Foggy cheers. “Let’s do it.”

 

They get lollipops. Matt does guess the mystery flavor—cherry—and Foggy downs the nasty-tasting sleeping pills between licks.

 

They move and carry things for Claire to help with the disaster relief until Foggy starts feeling sleepy enough, and then they duck into a supply closet, probably looking like a pair of horny teens while doing so. Matt smiles at him tentatively.

 

“I guess I should wish you luck.” He muses. “For when you reglitch.” Foggy grins.

 

“And I guess I should say save me some lollipops.” He agrees. “I’ll see you in a minute.”

 

It gets a little confusing, all these different possibilities and alternates. He’s going to be with this Matt, but he was _also_ with the last Glitch Matt, and then the Original Matt. And then he’s got three more Matts to look forward to. It makes his head spin sometimes, but as long as Foggy doesn’t think about it too much it should be okay.

 

“There’s something else.” Matt starts, and then he hesitates, biting his lip. “Not enough time. I’ll tell you later. Just—when you find out, please don’t kill me.” Foggy blinks.

 

“Uh, how about you tell me right now instead?” He asks, alarmed. “We’ve got—“ He looks at his phone. “Ten minutes. You could give me the condensed version.” Matt shakes his head.

 

“Trust me, it’ll take a while to explain. Just ask me what I do when I can’t sleep, okay?” He sounds near-frantic, and they really don’t have time for Foggy to interrogate him.

 

“Senses and sleep, got it.” Foggy promises. “Ready?” Matt nods, relieved, and settles down next to him on the floor of the closet. Foggy falls asleep with his head resting on Matt’s shoulder. He sort of likes these glitches. They seem to always end with him sleeping with Matt. Now if only he could ‘sleep’ with Matt before the sleeping part. Instead he’ll probably drool all over him and snore. Not sexy. Matt doesn’t seem to mind, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and sighing.

 

“Sweet dreams.”

* * *

 

_“Let’s do the time warp again!”_

 

Foggy smiles and gets up. As soon as it’s a reasonably decent hour, he’s knocking on Matt’s door. It takes a while for Matt to open it, and he like he’s been through a tornado when he finally does.

 

“Morning, Matty!” Foggy chirps when he finally pulls away. “I brought breakfast!”

 

Matt gives him a look of wide-eyed panic and horror before not-so-casually leaning against the doorway. He’s practically diagonal so that he covers both sides, making it impossible for Foggy to get past him.

 

“I didn’t know you were coming over.” Matt says a little too brightly. “How wonderful. Why don’t we just go sit outside? It must be a beautiful day.”

 

“It’s cloudy, cold, and about to rain.” Foggy tells him easily. It does start raining in about an hour. Foggy’s packed an umbrella this time so he won’t get caught in it. “Come on, we have to talk.”

 

“Do we?” Matt asks, voice slightly strained. “Well, we can do that on the way to work. Let me just get my keys.”

 

“I’ll come with you.” Foggy offers happily. “I wanted to grab that tie I left here last week anyway.”

 

He’s maybe enjoying this a teensy bit too much, but it’s rare to see Matt so flustered, and Foggy is in a very good mood. Yesterday ended as a good day, and today is going to end even better. He’s going to save the city.

 

“I’ll get it.” Matt hastens to reassure him. “My apartment’s a little messy. I don’t want you to see that.” Foggy nods sagely. Mr. Neat Freak, trying the messy apartment excuse again. Matt never learns, does he?

 

“Sure, sure.” Foggy agrees. “But before we go, can I leave the pancakes I brought for your lady friend?”

 

Matt’s face is _priceless._ Foggy should have snapped a picture on his phone.

 

“How did you _know?”_ He chokes out, and Foggy grins.

 

“Lucky guess, player.” He pats Matt’s shoulder with his free hand. “How about you make it official though and introduce us?” Matt nods weakly and lets him in.

 

Claire’s suspicious of him at first—there’s something a bit tightly wound about her, although she also strikes him as kind—but when he pulls out the strawberry pancakes with extra whipped cream, she seems to warm to him.

 

It helps that he spent close to an hour with Claire last night working in the hospital. He knows more about her than a stranger should, so he’s not stumbling around in the dark. He asks all the right questions and _doesn’t_ ask all the wrong questions, and when he bumps his knee and Claire gets him ice, he casually mentions she has a natural talent for first aid. A healer’s touch.

 

Claire smiles and asks Matt why he can’t say nice things like that. Matt looks like he’s witnessing a train wreck, and that train contains most of his sanity. He numbly takes the plate Foggy gives him with murmured thanks, and when he takes his first bite he goes pale.

 

“Chocolate banana?” He whispers, horrified. Foggy nods.

 

“Trust me, you’re going to need it.”

 

Matt swallows hard and takes another bite.

 

* * *

 

“Four bombs?” Matt checks, shaken.

 

“Yeah. But don’t worry, Other Matt and I figured out some ranges. It shouldn’t take you too long to find them if we use the right coordinates.”

 

Matt stops walking. This is unfortunate, as the drizzle is about to start, so Foggy opens his umbrella and holds it above their heads just as the first drop falls. Then he begins leading Matt again.

 

“How could I help you find the bombs?” Matt asks carefully. “Do you mean helping you file a report?” Foggy snorts.

 

“No, I mean you sensing them out.” Foggy admits bluntly. “You know, sniffer dog stuff.”

 

“Sensing them out.” Matt repeats faintly, and he actually seems to lose his balance for the first time since Foggy met him. Foggy steadies him again, losing his firm hold on the umbrella for a second and getting his hair and face a little damp. He wrinkles his nose but ignores it. “How do you know about that?”

 

“Other Matt told me.” Foggy tells him proudly. “He said it was hard to talk about, but that you wanted me to know. You just didn’t know how to tell me.”

 

“Oh.” Matt says dimly, and then licks his lips and darts a nervous glance in Foggy’s direction. “And how did it go?” His whole body is tense, and he’s straining an inch or two away in Foggy’s hold like he’s ready and willing to run if Foggy says the wrong thing.

 

“Great.” Foggy assures him. “It was really impressive—it still is. No worries.” He beams at him. “You’re perfect, Matt. Senses and all.”

 

“Ah.” Matt _more_ than stops walking this time. He stops walking, swings Foggy around in front of him, and pulls him into a startlingly fierce hug. Foggy yelps at the sudden motion and drops the umbrella. When he tries to lean down and get it, Matt won’t let him. “It’s fine. I like the rain. I like—I like listening to the sounds the drops make on different surfaces, like songs. They echo back and it’s almost like I can see again, but the world is music instead of fire.”

 

He says the last part all in one breath, like it’s a secret he’s not sure he should be telling. When Foggy pulls away enough to look at him, Matt’s eyes are _desperate,_ dark and uncertain.

 

_I thought you’d hate me._

“You can listen to the songs without getting soaked, can’t you?” Foggy asks fondly, reaching up with his hands to at least shield Matt’s face from the rain. Matt closes his eyes briefly, taking a deep breath.

 

“Not if I want to listen to ours.”

 

“Oh.” Foggy watches him for a few seconds. Matt looks somehow both hopeless _and_ hopeful. He’s still scared. “Alright. Good mood music.”

 

Matt smiles. It’s possibly the most beautiful smile he’s ever seen, and Foggy’s spent years around _Matt._ He’s seen some pretty damn gorgeous smiles.

 

“ _Thank you.”_ Matt whispers, worshipful. He’s still smiling when he finally steps away and takes Foggy’s arm. “Okay. Take me where I need to go, and I can find them.”

 

He says it the same way the other Matt talked about finding lollipops, so proud and almost giddy. Foggy grins.

 

“Let’s go then, sniffer dog.”

 

* * *

 

Unfortunately, one side effect of rain is that it tends to muddle things, including Matt’s sense of smell.

 

“Everything smells watery and faded.” Matt admits. “It might take a little longer than I thought.”

 

“Don’t worry, we’ve got all day.” Foggy reassures him, and Matt smiles and keeps looking. His senses apparently mean that he doesn’t need Foggy to lead him, but Matt stays close anyway, a hand always on Foggy’s elbow or arm or shoulder.

 

“The problem is, there are so many ingredients for bombs in the city.” Matt sighs later. Foggy blinks, alarmed. “They sell well in criminal circles.” Matt explains. “Most of them are never used—at least not in Hell’s Kitchen—but I can still smell them a little in a lot of places. That’s how I know the scent. With the rain, it gets even harder.”

 

“Oh, well that’s…” Terrifying. They’re living on a powder keg. “Fine. We have three days. We can do it.” Foggy encourages him.

 

“We stop at 10:00 and get somewhere safe, no matter how many we’ve found.” Matt orders, and Foggy nods. He’s not planning on letting Matt near any windows near 11:00. Matt will just jump in front of them again, the stupid hero.

 

“You got it, boss.”

 

They find three. The first one is two blocks east of Foggy’s apartment, in a nondescript building. Matt freezes outside of it, and then tugs Foggy right past it without stopping and keeps walking until Foggy can’t see the building anymore.

 

“Well, that explains it.” Matt mutters. When Foggy makes a curious noise, he explains. “I can hear them talking inside, about selling guns and making deals. Mob—Russian, judging by the accents, although some of their associates are American enough that they're speaking English at least half the time. It sounds like a turf war.”

 

“They’re risking innocent lives for a turf war?” Foggy asks incredulously. Matt nods. “I _hate_ criminals.” Foggy grumbles, and Matt nods again.

 

“So do I.” He murmurs with startling bitterness. “Let’s keep looking.”

 

It’s getting dark, but they keep searching—it’s not like Matt’s phased by dim lighting. The second one’s at another isolated, rather plain building. This time when Foggy peers closer he can see that all of the windows are covered. Definitely sketchy.

 

The third one is at a place called Troika restaurant. Matt has possibly the weirdest reaction ever, practically sprinting away before Foggy can even get a great look at it, dragging Foggy behind him like a rag doll.

 

“I think I’ve walked by here before.” Matt tells him vaguely, still practically sprinting. “Don’t worry, I know the address.”

 

“Russians?” Foggy asks, glancing back at the building, and Matt nods. “So the last one’s probably a Russian base too.”

 

“It must be.” Matt agrees, and then tenses when Foggy’s phone buzzes. 10:00. “Time’s up. Come on.”

 

They called in three bombs with specific locations, which is a good start, and thanks to Claire’s help the hospital is better equipped to deal with the people still caught in the last blast. They’re getting good at this saving the city thing.

 

Foggy gets sleepy a little sooner this time, probably thanks to running around the city all day. Combined with a healthy dose of sleeping pills, he’ll be out like a light in no time. They camp out with lollipops in the closet again, and even though it’s relatively large, it’s still a _closet._ They’re in close quarters, which Foggy is enjoying rather more than he should. At this point, they’re practically nose-to-nose.

 

“We’re actually doing it.” He cheers. “I’ve got two more days. I can actually do this.” Then he hesitates. “I’m sorry I couldn’t find them all for you.” Matt shakes his head, putting a hand on Foggy’s shoulder.

 

“You’ve done more than enough.” He promises. “And I’ll find the people who set the bombs later.” Foggy hums thoughtfully.

 

“Wow, they’re going to in jail for a really long time. I wouldn’t mind watching that court case.” He muses, and Matt smiles at him.

 

“They are definitely going to regret it.” He agrees mildly. “More than they can imagine.”

 

“Yeah.” Foggy enthuses, dozily cheerful. “The magic of the modern justice system, am I right?” 

 

“Mm-hmm.” Matt says somewhat vaguely. “How much time?” Foggy squints at his phone.

 

“We’ve got twenty-five minutes left.” He announces. “But I might crash early. I’m feeling a little—oh!” How did he forget? “I need to ask you something.” Matt nods, smiling encouragingly. “I’m supposed to ask you what you do at night when you can’t sleep.”

 

Matt goes very still. His smile has slipped and tightened to something much warier.

 

“Who told you to ask me that?” Matt asks quietly, voice indecipherable. Foggy grins.

 

 _“You_ did.” He tells Matt, delighted. “Well, the last you. Other Matt. Bit of a mind-twister, right?”

 

“He told you ask about my nocturnal activities?” Matt asks, tone even, giving nothing away. Foggy nods.

 

“Yeah, after he told me about the senses. He said it was important.” He explains.

 

“Did he?” Matt mutters. “Did he say anything else?” Foggy thinks for a moment.

 

“He thought I’d be angry. Which I won't." He adds hastily. "You guys thought that about the senses too, and I thought they were cool. He said you were scared I’d hate you about the senses, and you were scared I’d hate you about this too, but I won’t.”

 

Matt gives a strange twist of a smile.

 

“Other Matt certainly was _chatty_ , wasn’t he?” He murmurs darkly, and Foggy thinks that Matt's not exactly pleased with the evidence of his alternate self's loquaciousness.  

 

“So you know what he was talking about?” Foggy asks eagerly. Matt watches him for a long moment, face unreadable. Then his smile softens again.

 

“I think he might have been talking about my boxing.” He admits sheepishly. “When I can’t sleep, I put on the gloves and go throw a few punches.” He shrugs. “Sometimes I punch a little too hard and hurt my hands. I’m guessing he thought you’d be upset if you knew. I always thought so.”

 

“Oh.” Foggy sighs in relief. “Thank goodness. I was afraid it was something really bad.” Matts tend to be drama queens, don't they? Like any of these revelations are hate-worthy, _honestly._ Matt shrugs again, abashed. “Well, okay. Just try not to punch too hard, and tell me if you need someone to talk to. I can spot you.”

 

“Thank you.” Matt says gratefully. “I’ll keep that in mind. How _nice_ of Other Matt to bring it up.” Foggy is sure he's imagining the edge to Matt's voice. 

 

“Yeah, he was a good guy.” Foggy reminisces fondly. “Although, I’m biased. I’m pretty fond of Matts in general.” Matt grins at him.

 

“I’m pretty partial to Foggys, myself.” He muses faux-thoughtfully, and they giggle for a while, licking lollipops and drenched to the bone. It’s a perfect end to the night.

 

“Foggy?” Matt whispers, and Foggy nods against Matt’s shoulder to show he’s listening. “I really am sorry for not telling you about the boxing. God, I’m so, so _sorry_.”

 

“You told me eventually.” Foggy points out sleepily. Matt gives a small, bitter laugh.

 

“Eventually.” He agrees quietly, and shifts a little closer. “Sweet dreams, Foggy.”

 

* * *

 

“ _Let’s do the time warp again!”_

Two more tallies, and only one bomb left. If this works, he can stay up with Matt past midnight, and he’ll be deglitched. He won’t even have to use the last tally.

 

The interview with Elena goes well, the best it’s ever gone. Foggy brings in pancakes for everyone today, even though he and Matt already had them a few hours earlier. Pancakes for breakfast and pancakes for lunch—sounds like a balanced diet to Foggy.

 

He gets Karen the blueberry and Elena the dulce de leche that Foggy just happened to order today for no real reason, what a lucky coincidence, and he scores about infinity brownie points with both of them. Once they finish their pancakes, they start talking. It’s glorious because Foggy knows all the details and how to charm Elena. When Matt and Karen start showing off their Spanish and smiling knowingly at each other, Foggy cuts in.

 

“And they destroyed the apartments with a…I don’t know that last word.” Karen admits sheepishly. Matt opens his mouth—

 

“Sledgehammer.” Foggy informs her cheerfully. Karen looks impressed. “I speak a little Spanish. Nothing too fancy, but enough.” He knows maybe two words, and one of them is ‘sledgehammer’. Luckily, he also knows this conversation by heart.

 

Matt looks completely bewildered. Foggy wonders what the word for ‘sucker’ is in Spanish.

 

“Um, do you want to do this?” Karen demurs, gesturing around the table and towards Elena. Foggy shakes his head, smiling.

 

“No, no.” Foggy tells her warmly. “I like listening to your voice.”

 

Karen blinks, then sighs and actually flushes a little. Foggy smirks and glances at Matt.

 

Matt is sitting completely still, staring straight ahead and hands clenched so tight that his knuckles have gone white. Foggy wonders if Matt somehow realizes that Foggy stole his pick-up line. Well, so what if he did? It’s Matt fault for being such a flirt in the first place and giving Foggy the line.

 

“Well, okay.” Karen gestures for Elena to continue.

 

“There is damage in todas partes.” Elena explains, and Karen turns back to them.

 

“In todas partes means—“

 

“Everywhere.” Matt finishes swiftly. Foggy and Karen both blink at him, surprised. Matt doesn't usually cut people off when they're talking. He's too polite for that. Foggy's usually the one that jumps the conversational gun. 

 

“You speak Spanish too?” Karen wonders, and Matt nods with a tight smile.

 

“Fluently.” He tells her without a hint of humbleness. Not like before, where it was ‘Aw, shucks, just a few words, you go on and be beautiful’. “I can translate instead, if you’d like.” He turns to Foggy. “That is, if you don’t mind listening to _my_ voice.” Foggy grins at him.

 

Jealous that Foggy can flirt with Karen too? _That’s right, Murdock. You’re not the only one with game,_ Foggy thinks smugly. Sure, he stole his game from Matt, but it counts.

 

“You know how much I love listening to your voice, Matt.” Foggy says affectionately, taking pity on him. “Go on. Show off your mad skills.” Matt beams at him.

 

Foggy thinks when this is over, he’s probably going to force Matt to teach him Spanish. He wouldn’t mind learning another sexy language, and Matt’s pleased smirk as he translates is pretty sexy by itself. Should be fun.

 

Matt gives the same excuse as last time—they’re taking the afternoon off for bonding. Foggy should have come up with a better alibi, since he knew it was coming, but he’s a coward and he loves the way Matt says ‘close’ and ‘partner’ so tenderly, so he stays damningly silent.

 

“Okay, you call the police and I’ll call Landman and Zack.” He suggests after they’re done, and then laughs. “Man, Marci’s going to be so _pissed_ when I just call in and win _.”_ Matt turns towards him, brow furrowed.

 

“ _Marci_ is who you talk to at Landman and Zack?” He asks incredulously, and Foggy makes a noise of agreement. “Claire, Karen, Marci. Is there a single woman in Hell’s Kitchen that you _don’t_ seduce today?” Matt snaps, looking honestly a little upset.

 

“Who says I was just seducing _women_?” Foggy wonders innocently, and Matt makes a alarmed sound, almost tripping as they walk. Foggy grins at him. “Yeah. Start calling and start looking, and I won’t seduce anyone else today.” Except Matt, if by some miracle Matt suddenly decides he’s interested. “Deal?”

 

“Deal.” Matt agrees hastily, and they start calling and looking. Marci _is_ pissed, and Matt seems smug about this, even taking the phone to say hello before they hang up.

 

It takes a while to find the last bomb, partly because Foggy makes Matt take a break halfway through when he sees his hands. He should have been looking closer the other times, he thinks with a pang of regret.

 

“You’re getting those wrapped.” He orders, examining the bruised knuckles. “Luckily I carry first aid stuff in my bag, because I can be a little—well, you know.”

 

“Clumsy.” Matt finishes absently, tucking his hands behind his back. “Me too. Sorry.” He seems to be trying to laugh it off, but Foggy doesn’t let him. He reaches around to grab Matt’s arm, pulling it back around to get a better look.

 

“Jesus, Matt.” The bruises aren’t awful, but he doesn’t want Matt to be bruised at all. “How much punching were you doing last night?”

 

Matt freezes.

 

“Punching?” He repeats dimly, and Foggy makes a noise of agreement. “You know about that?” Foggy nods.

 

“Yeah, the last Matt told me.” He explains. “You like to do some late-night boxing when things get tough.” Matt still looks frozen.

 

“And you were okay with my ‘late-night boxing’?” He asks warily. Foggy nods, grabbing the wrap bandages. He’s lucky he got the super-stocked value pack, or else it would just be more Mickey Mouse Band-Aids.

 

“Uh-huh.” He mutters absently, holding Matt’s hand up. “Keep that there.” He orders, and starts wrapping. “I mean, obviously I worry about you, but if it’s something you think you need to do, then I respect that.”

 

“You…do?” Matt tries uncertainly. “And you’re not mad?” Foggy shrugs.

 

“Nah. I wish you’d told me sooner though. You could have come and said hi once you were done. We could have had breakfast together—pancakes. You know you love the pancakes.”

 

“They’re very good.” Matt agrees, although he still looks off-kilter. “You _really_ don’t mind?”

 

“As long as you take care of yourself and keep me in the loop?” Foggy taps pointedly at Matt’s hands, away from the bruised knuckles but close enough to make his point. “We’re good. You're not alone, you know? You always forget that.”

 

“Oh.” Matt finally unfreezes. He looks stunned but tentatively happy. “Oh, god. Thank you. I had no idea how to tell you—I was afraid you’d hate me.” Foggy rolls his eyes.

 

“Yeah, you thought that about the senses too. You’re a weird guy, Matt.” He teases. “I’d never hate you, but especially not about stuff like that. I mean, you’re just being you.”

 

“I am.” Matt agrees, and he’s got a tiny, incredulous smile on his face. “I really am. Thank you for understanding that.” His smile trembles and widens tentatively. “So, I don’t have to keep it a secret anymore?”

 

He looks enchanted at the thought, and the question's gusted out in this fragile little whisper like he's afraid the moment will shatter if he's too loud. Foggy nods, patting his shoulder fondly before putting the kit back in his bag.

 

“No more secrets. You Matts are getting pretty good at spilling the beans.”

 

Matt gives a breathless, fractured laugh.

 

“I don’t think I can ever thank them enough for it.” Matt admits. “I was too scared to tell you, but now you _know,_ and it’s okay. Whichever Matt told you was much braver than I am.”

 

“Hey, no.” Foggy soothes. “You’re both awesome. Every Matt was awesome, is awesome, and will be awesome. Universal law.” Matt laughs again.

 

“Well, I’d better start earning my title as a Matt.” Matt muses happily. He really goes seem over the moon about this, and Foggy wonders why Matt never brought it up before. It’s not _that_ big of a deal. “Let’s go bomb-hunting.”

 

Matt takes to the search with even more enthusiasm than before, which Foggy didn’t think was _possible._ He seems eager to prove himself, almost like he’s trying to outshine the other Matts. Only a weirdo like Matt would think that competing with yourself is a good idea.

 

They eventually track the bomb to a warehouse. A dark, kind of menacing warehouse. Foggy can totally see this being a hideout for Russian mobsters.

 

“Jesus, it’s creepy here.” Foggy whispers. “You got anything?” Matt cocks his head thoughtfully.

 

“I think so.” He muses. “We’ll just get a little closer so you can get the warehouse number, and then we’ll leave. Quickly.” He adds, glancing around and apparently sensing _something_. “As far as I can tell, they’re all inside, but that might not last. Let’s hurry.”

 

They wander carefully closer, until Foggy can see the faded 13 on the side.

 

“Got it.” Foggy says triumphantly. “Should we call it in?” Matt shakes his head, grabbing Foggy’s arm.

 

“Later.” He mutters. “We need to go.”

 

He sounds anxious, like he did when he was pulling Foggy away from the station. He’d been worried about having Foggy near the gunshot, and he’s hearing something now that has him just as worried. Foggy hopes to god it’s not another gun.

 

They get pretty far, but then Matt takes a sudden, hissing breath and pulls Foggy into a narrow space between two buildings.

 

“Too late.” Matt curses, and rips off his glasses. “I need your shirt.”

 

Foggy blinks at him. He’s about to ask _why_ Matt needs his shirt, but Matt’s already yanking it over his head. Foggy yelps, because it’s sort of chilly out and Matt’s got a perfectly good shirt already.

 

“You've got a perfectly good—“ Foggy starts, and then stops when he sees that Matt’s not using his shirt as a shirt. He’s using it as a _mask._ “Is now really the time to play dress-up?”

 

“Stay here.” Matt orders, looking like a total dork in his black cat burglar outfit and Zorro mask. Honestly, what is going on here? “And—try not to look. It can get a little rough.”

 

He runs out of the alley. Foggy pretty much immediately ignores Matt’s orders and peeks around the corner, hidden from sight.

 

Apparently the Russians weren’t quite as ‘all inside’ as Matt thought. There are three of them, big and buff and _not_ happy to see Matt. They’re acting like he’s some sort of long-lost enemy, like they _recognize_ him.

 

They’re looking for a fight, and they seem pretty sure that Matt’s the man to give it to him.

 

“Oh, _come on_.“ Foggy’s pretty sure he’s about to get his ass handed to him, but he’s got to help Matt. Sure, he’s shirtless and not great at brawling, but he’s got to _try._ Matt likes to box, but against three guys like this? He’ll get slaughtered.

 

Just as Foggy’s bracing himself to run in like a shirtless Spartan warrior, Matt—well, Foggy’s not quite sure what Matt does. It involves a graceful leap, some sort of weird twisty maneuver, and then one of the big buff guys is on the ground and unconscious.

 

The other two big buff guys actually hesitate for a second, looking between Matt and the big buff guy currently imitating a cheap rug, and then they seem to decide that screw it, two against one are pretty good odds.

 

This is a mistake.

 

Of course, two against one _are_ pretty good odds. Matt keeps doing twisty, kicky, punchy things, sort of like a ninja, but he’s still only one person and even as he takes down one of the big buff guys, the other one pulls out a switchblade.

 

“Oh, no you don’t.” Foggy mutters, reaching into his bag to find the heaviest thing he can find—which happens to be his first aid kit. Not the most wieldy weapon, but Foggy’s got a good throwing arm. Softball is finally paying off. 

 

Foggy thinks no one expects a blind ninja, and even fewer expect to get brained with a first aid kit in the middle of a knife fight.

 

It’s enough of a blow to make the man stumble forward and drop the knife, and before he can grab for it Matt kicks him in the face. The big buff man’s probably not going to be grabbing anything for a while.

 

“Is this ironic?” Matt wonders, sounding delighted, when he picks up the first aid kit. "Using a tool for healing to attack someone?" Foggy watches as Matt uses his free hand to pull off the ‘mask’. 

 

“I have no clue.” He admits faintly, staring at Matt.  

 

Matt’s got a strange expression on his face. His smile is happy but a little too fierce, and his eyes seem darker in the shadow of the building, almost black. His face is shadowed too, strange shading that makes him look sharper, almost dangerous. He looks—not quite like Matt.

 

And then Matt steps closer and his smile is softening to something so filled with relief and tenderness that it makes Foggy feel weak. The shadows shift and fade, and he’s just Matt again, bright light Matt with the warm smile and the warm arms pulling Foggy into a tight hug.

 

“Are you okay?” He asks, and Foggy’s not quite sure how to answer that. Physically he’s fine, and they probably don’t have time to go over how very not-fine he is with pretty much everything else about this situation, so he nods.

 

“Can I have my shirt back now?” He asks, shivering a little. It’s more from unease than cold. Matt nods, pulling away to pass it over, and Foggy tugs it over his head hurriedly. “We should—we should go home now.” He offers cautiously, looking back at the three unconscious men.

 

“Good idea.” Matt agrees, already starting to lead them again. It still feels strange sometimes, being led by _Matt,_ but Foggy’s a little wobbly right now so he lets it happen. “We can order dinner after we call in the bombs. You’ve still got some pajamas in my closet, so you can change after your shower—”

 

 _No, I meant my apartment._ Foggy almost says. _I meant we both go to our_ separate _homes, because I’m not sure that I can be around you right now. I think I’m scared, and I’m not sure if it’s because of the Russians or because of you._

“—Or I could make you something. I could do eggs on toast. Breakfast for three square meals isn’t very healthy, but I think we can make an exception. What do you think?”

 

Foggy looks at Matt, who is smiling at him expectantly and _like nothing is wrong._

“Eggs are fine.” He offers weakly. Matt beams and nods, pulling him along until they can find a taxi. It’s quiet on the way back to Matt’s apartment. Foggy’s still in shock, and Matt seems content to just enjoy the moment. He’s practically _humming,_ he’s so happy.

 

They call in the bombs, and when the cab pulls up, Matt holds out his hand wordlessly to let Foggy lead him up.  _Now_ Matt needs Foggy to lead him. Now, when people are watching and Matt has to pretend to be helpless. Now, when Matt has to lie.

 

He’s been using _Foggy_ to lie.

 

“How can you act like everything’s fine?” He asks shakily when Matt’s got Foggy settled on the couch next to him. Matt blinks at him.

 

“What would be wrong?” He asks, looking genuinely confused. “We stopped the bombs. Everything’s perfect.”

 

“You just beat three men into unconsciousness.” Foggy tells him, feeling dizzy. “You just—Jesus, what _was_ that?” Matt looks even more confused, turning towards him.

 

“That was just me doing my job.” He smiles tentatively. “You know, ‘late-night boxing’?” He mimes a little one-two punch, and Foggy stares at him.

 

“That was boxing?” He breathes, stunned. _“That’s_ what you meant by boxing? You beating people up?”

 

“…Yes?” Matt looks wary now. “Which you knew about, right? You told me you knew about it.”

 

Foggy laughs, a bit hysterically.

 

“I knew you boxed—I didn’t know you were using people as your punching bags!” He gasps out. “Is that why they got so mad when they saw you? Have they seen you before? Did you _beat them up_ before?” Matt shakes his head.

 

“I’ve never met them. I think word must just be getting around.” He admits, looking a little sick. “So you didn’t know. I didn’t tell you.” He runs a hand through his hair, laughing lowly. It's not happy the way a laugh should be. “I should have known. I’d never be brave enough to tell you on my own.”

 

“Apparently not.” Foggy barely keeps his voice from a snap. “Because I’ve lived five lives, and you've lied to me in all of them.” Matt flinches.

 

“I didn’t _want_ to lie to you in _any_ of them.” He whispers, voice thin and reedy. “I had to. I just wanted to keep you safe.”

 

_You know this is the right thing to do, don’t you?_

“Is that your ‘reason’?” Foggy asks hollowly, staring down at his hands. “You lied to me, every day, because you wanted to keep me ‘safe’?” Matt nods. “Matt, what if I’d found out by getting hurt? What if I’d found out by _you_ getting hurt, bad enough that you couldn’t lie anymore? That’s not keeping me safe—that’s keeping me in the dark. That doesn’t keep _either_ of us safe.”

 

“I would have told you.” Matt swears, curling up on the couch with his arms wrapped around his knees. He looks small and sad. “I would have, as soon as I thought you wouldn’t hate me for it.”

 

Foggy considers this statement for a moment. It’s insane, because Foggy would never hate him, but underneath the insanity is something hurt and raw—terrifying. Matt was sure that Foggy _could_ hate him.

 

“Well, you _didn’t_ tell me.” Foggy points out bluntly, and Matt winces. “But I still don’t hate you for it, so. Mission accomplished, I guess.” He shrugs with forced nonchalance. It’ll be okay. It will. “I should probably take my pill. It would be better to keep you away from the warehouse next time, right? Make less waves?”

 

Matt hesitates, and then nods.

 

“I think I would—will—appreciate that.” He agrees awkwardly. “I’m not very popular with them right now. Or with anyone, actually.” He wrings his hands awkwardly, and Foggy sighs.

 

“As dumb as you are about interpersonal relationships, you’re still pretty popular with me.” Foggy comforts him, patting his knee. “And you’ll be even more popular if you make me some eggs on toast like you promised. Bedtime snack.”

 

“Okay.” Matt looks incredibly relieved at this assignment, and doesn’t hesitate in clamoring to his feet and hurrying to the kitchen. Foggy follows after, and even though he’s still a little freaked out by all this, seeing Matt cooking makes him feel more normal.

 

It’s always been fun, watching Matt whip up a meal. Before it was fascinating to watch how careful he was and how he compensated for being blind. Now Foggy realizes that Matt was being careful because he didn’t want to people to see how very _effective_ he was at compensating. He’s graceful, now. He doesn’t even hesitate between cracking the eggs and putting them in the pan. Foggy supposes he can probably sense the heat—hell, he probably gets burned less than Foggy does. A few minutes later, Matt hands him a plate.

 

“I made yours with pepper.” He says proudly, and Foggy raises an eyebrow.

 

“I’m aware. I was here when you made it.” When Matt’s face falls, he sighs. “Thank you. It’s perfect.” Matt beams, rejuvenated immediately in the face of this grudging admission. Dork. “And now, while we eat our delicious meal and wait for the sleeping pills to kick in, you are going to tell me _everything.”_

 

Matt swallows hard.

 

“I should have made pancakes.” He whispers, looking terrified. “Double chocolate banana.” Foggy nods amiably, humming in agreement.

 

“With sprinkles.”

 

* * *

 

“Jesus, do you even leave yourself time to _breathe?”_ Foggy wonders when Matt's  _finally_ done confessing.

 

“Fortunately, breathing is an autonomic function.” Matt explains brightly, like he actually _would_ have trouble fitting it into his schedule otherwise. “Do you want any more wine?” He hefts the bottle enticingly, and Foggy eyes it with great apprehension.

 

“I’m still not sure skipping the sleeping pill was such a good idea.” He admits tiredly. “Although being drunk probably was.” Matt nods wisely.

 

“Don’t worry, you’ll be asleep before you know it. You tend to be a sleepy drunk, and also much more forgiving.” Which was pretty clearly his reason for getting Foggy drunk in the first place. “You can be a bit clingy too.” Foggy glares.

 

“Not clingy.” He argues from where he’s clinging to Matt like a limpet. “Jerk.”

 

Matt grins at him, looking way too entertained by the situation.

 

“And now your vocabulary is starting to deteriorate.” He muses. “Right on time. Alright, bed.” He tugs Foggy up and makes his way to the bedroom, awkwardly since Foggy refuses to let go. Matt’s soft and warm and _Matt_ —very comfy.

 

“You sound smart.” Foggy accuses. “You didn’t drink.” Matt hums in agreement, completely unrepentant.

 

“Someone should probably be sober for this part.” He reminds Foggy kindly. “And you won’t even have a hangover after you glitch.” Foggy sighs sadly.

 

“ _This_ Glitch Foggy will. Poor Glitch Foggy.” He takes a second to mourn for Glitch Foggy’s imminent jackhammer of a headache. Matt laughs and settles him into bed.

 

“I’ll make him something nice in the morning for breakfast. We can take the day off, spend some time together.” He hesitates. “I imagine he—you—will probably still be angry with me.”

 

Foggy shakes his head, then realizes how very soft the pillow is and nuzzles it for a few seconds.

 

“Not mad.” He promises, although he might very well be mad in the morning when he’s not quite so full of red wine and good will towards men. “Good Matty.” He pets Matt’s head happily, then goes back to snuggling his soft pillow. “Pillow-Matt used conditioner.” He approves, and Matt gives a snorting little laugh that's not even remotely appealing.

 

“Alright.” He agrees indulgently. “What time is it?” Foggy groans, but obediently forces his eyes open to check his phone.

 

“11:45. I’m gonna glitch soon.” He warns Matt, yawning. Matt nods and sits next to him, holding his hand. Foggy sighs happily at the pleasant sight and closes his eyes again. “Night-night.”

 

“Goodnight, Foggy.” Matt murmurs. Foggy smiles.

 

This is what he was missing, the day he glitched. He’s in bed, a little loopy and his side doesn’t hurt, just like before. Now though, he’s got a soft Pillow-Matt and a soft People-Matt, and the soft People-Matt is sitting next to him and holding his hand, wishing him a good goodnight.

 

This is how the night should have gone, but there’s still one thing missing. Foggy still needs a good good-morning. He’s got one more day, and he’s going to get his morning. He’s going to fix his glitch, and it’s going to be perfect.

 

“Foggy?” Matt murmurs, some time later.

 

“Mm-hmm?” Foggy hums comfortably, already halfway to sleep and picking up speed. It’s quiet for a minute or two, and then Matt takes a deep breath.

 

“You said the other Matts tell you secrets, right?” Matt asks softly. “They— _we_ tell you the secrets we know the next Matt will be too scared to say?“

 

“Mm.” Foggy mumbles in vague agreement. Matt squeezes his hand, sighing shakily.

 

“Then I have one last secret for you.” He confesses. “Just one.”

 

Foggy can’t even manage a ‘mm’ this time. He’s too tired. He can already feel the haze of dreams settling over his mind. Matt seems to understand, or maybe he’s just desperate to say the secret before it’s too late, even if Foggy can’t hear him.

 

There’s a gentle hand against his cheek, and then a lingering kiss to his forehead. Finally, Matt leans in to whisper in his ear, warm breath and a brush of lips. Matt’s last secret, the last thing Foggy hears before he falls asleep and glitches one more time, is:

 

“I’m in love with you.”

 

* * *

 

_“Let’s do the time warp again!”_

Foggy stares up at the ceiling for maybe an hour, replaying Matt’s words over and over in his head.

 

_I’m in love with you._

Every single one of Matt’s other confessions was true. The senses, the raindrops, in some sort of twisted way the boxing. And Matt’s lied about _a lot_ of things, apparently, but there would be no reason to lie about this. Matt isn’t cruel.

 

And he’d sounded so incredibly tender when he said it. Warm and sweet and just a little frightened. He seemed to think that Foggy would hate him for it, just like he did with all of his other secrets.

 

“ _He stared at me and I felt a change! Time meant nothing, never would again! Let's do the time warp again!”_

 

Somewhere, in some universe that’s a timeline and a glitch away, Foggy is waking up and saying it back. _I love you too._ And they’re probably making pancakes and Foggy’s moaning about his headache, and Matt’s laughing and kissing him and so, so happy.

 

Foggy looks at the tally on his wrist. Just one left. It’s time for his happy ending too—minus the hangover. Foggy is going to do the impossible, what no person has ever managed to do in the history of glitches.

 

Foggy is going to have a perfect day.

 

First, he knocks on his neighbor’s door and tells him to please shut the hell up or at least invest in some headphones.

 

Then he calls the police from a payphone and tells them about the bombs, locations and times and types of explosives, and then he tells them that there’s going to be a shooting in the police station at 2:25 PM, and the officers involved are probably crooked and should be investigated by Internal Affairs or the FBI.

 

Once that’s done, he puts down the phone and goes back home to get ready. He hasn’t spent this much time getting ready in years, but he needs to be perfect. So he takes a long shower and makes sure he’s completely scrubbed and clean, uses the shampoo and body wash that Matt mentioned liking once, and wears his best clothes. Matt can probably sense a snappy dresser, and Foggy aims to impress.

 

He cleans his apartment and puts fresh sheets on the bed, just in case, and calls Karen to let her know that he and Matt are going to be a little late today. He knows exactly when Elena is coming to the office, so he knows exactly when they have to leave.

 

Finally, he goes to get pancakes from Nadine, because a perfect day starts with a perfect breakfast. He’s also not sure if skipping the pancakes will tear a hole in the space-time continuum through some sort of weird pancake-butterfly-effect, and it pays to be sure. They can eat them later—much, _much_ later, if all goes well. He’s planning to keep Matt very busy in bed and help him work up an appetite.

 

When he’s wasted as much time as he can trying to psych himself up and calm himself down, he takes a deep breath and calls Matt.

 

“I need to see you.” Foggy says when Matt answers the phone with a sleepy hum. “I have to tell you a secret.” There is a long pause.

 

“Are you in trouble?” Matt asks, much more alert than he was a moment ago.

 

“No, it’s not bad, it’s just—important. Please?” Foggy begs, and he hears a rustle of silk. Matt’s already getting up.

 

“Of course. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Matt promises, and Foggy grins and says goodbye. A few minutes later, much sooner than Foggy had expected, Matt knocks on the door. He must have paid the cabbie a fortune to get him here so fast, Foggy thinks fondly. Shirt's buttoned wrong, and Foggy is certainly enjoying the little patches of pale skin that show through the gaps between buttons but he hopes the cabbie wasn't peeping too much. Forgot his glasses entirely in the rush, the dork, and the stick in his hand is still half-folded, no way he was using that to find his way around. How on earth did it take Foggy this long to get a clue? Matt's the worst secret-keeper in the multiverse. 

 

As soon as he opens the door, the bedraggled Matt is talking.

 

“Are you alright? You’re not hurt, are you? You sounded strange on the phone. I was worried, so I—“

 

Foggy grabs him by his shirt collar and yanks him inside. Then he pushes Matt against the wall and kisses him. He should explain what’s going on, and he will— _later._ He’s been waiting _years_ for this, certain that he’d never have it. He _needs_ it.

 

Matt, surprisingly, doesn’t even hesitate. He just drops the stick to the ground with a rather satisfying clatter, tangles a hand in Foggy’s hair and kisses back, fierce and frantic. He must want— _need_ —this as much as Foggy does.

 

_I’m in love with you._

“Good morning, sunshine.” Foggy murmurs, kissing along Matt’s jaw and down his neck, biting a quick, dark bruise into the skin. Matt gasps, head falling back against the wall and making it much easier to suck another mark higher on Matt’s throat, and then another and another and another.

 

Matt’s whimpering by the time Foggy makes his way back up to his mouth, little broken sounds, and when Foggy nips gently at his lip he makes a desperate noise and wraps an arm around Foggy’s waist to pull him even slower. 

 

“God, you’re gorgeous like this.” Foggy whispers reverently. Matt is flushed and breathless, eyes dark and lips redder than Foggy’s ever seen. He looks dazed, almost drugged, and he’s actually shaking a little. “I wonder what this feels like for you.”

 

“Perfect.” Matt says dreamily, and he licks his lips and leans back in. He seems unsure at first, like he’s afraid Foggy’s going to pull away if Matt’s the one leading. When Foggy hums happily and enthusiastically follows, Matt gets a little more daring. “You feel perfect.” He murmurs when he pulls away, awed.

 

Foggy smiles.

 

“Yeah?” He asks, pleased. Matt nods, using the opportunity to press a quick kiss to Foggy’s cheek. “Come on, a little more. What do I taste like?” Matt hums, happy.

 

“Maple syrup.” Matt tells him dutifully. Foggy had sampled the pancakes, so that makes sense. “And just—you. I don’t know how to describe it. Just you.”

 

“Good.” Foggy compliments easily. “And what does my heartbeat sound like?”

 

“It’s really light and quick, but still—oh, god.” Matt swallows, face full of dawning shock and a lightning flash of terror that's quickly eclipsed by wonder when Foggy doesn't yell or punch or anything else except lean against him and sigh happily. “You know?” Foggy beams at him.

 

“Mm-hmm.” He agrees smugly, reaching down to take Matt’s hands and look at them. “Still bruised. Poor thing. We’ll get you something for those later.” He presses a sweet kiss to each knuckle. “You really should be careful about how hard you punch, Matt. A mask protects your identity, not your hands.” He sighs. “And you have such beautiful hands, you know? We need to take care of them.”

 

He nips lightly at Matt’s wrist, and Matt makes a startled sound. His knees buckle just a little, but Foggy catches him.

 

“ _You know.”_ Matt says again, and he sounds wrecked in the best way. “How?” Foggy grins against the delicate skin before pulling away.

 

“You have a lot of secrets, Matt Murdock, and you’re not very good at keeping them.” He tells Matt fondly. “But don’t worry. I am.”

 

“And you—you still want this?” Matt wonders, unsure and hopeful.

 

Foggy nods, squeezing Matt’s hands once before letting go. Matt immediately wraps then back around Foggy’s waist like he’s scared Foggy will run if he doesn’t.

 

“I want everything.” He agrees tenderly. “Every last bit.” Matt’s arms tighten and he blinks rapidly. Trying not to cry, and failing. Matt’s quick to cry, the sap, but Foggy doesn’t mind as long as they’re happy tears.

 

Even though Matt’s lovely flushed cheeks are getting a little blotchy, like they always do. All part of the package, Foggy thinks affectionately. Every last bit.

 

“Am I dreaming?” Matt wonders hazily. “Please say I’m not dreaming.”

 

“You’re not dreaming.” Foggy assures him with another light kiss. Matt sways into it, sighing. “I want this.”

 

“ _Why?”_ Matt asks him hoarsely. “Why _now?_ ”

 

Foggy smiles at him and leans in for another kiss. He can’t seem to stop, and now he knows he doesn’t have to. It’s the best good-morning he’s ever had, and he’s got a thousand more to look forward to.

 

“Because today is the perfect day to tell you that I love you.”

 

It’s the one thing that never changed, that never _will_ change. Foggy Nelson will always love Matt Murdock, no matter what happens. Forever and always.

 

Every single time.

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, a cliche trope. Very fun to write though. I feel like I should point out that in the show, there was a suicide bomber, but that would kind of hard to track down definitively, so I went with the stationary standard. This is an alternate universe anyway.
> 
> Now I can't help but wonder, what will Matt's glitch be? I hope he tells Foggy instead of keeping it a secret like he does with everything else. And that they don't get high.
> 
> One last thing: the glitch. You might think there would be mayhem in the streets if everyone gets one, but I think it would be okay. Most people would probably get their glitches young when they still believed in wishes, so they'd probably spend them stealing candy and playing pranks. Honestly? So would most adults. Plus, timey-wimey. It would work out somehow. Maybe.


End file.
